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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698468">Shine A Little Light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird'>Wanderbird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crowley should seriously see a therapist, Honestly so should Hastur, Mostly genderless celestials, Multi, Murder Mystery, Pre-Season/Series 03, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:33:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley had learned to tolerate a lot of absurdity in their life.<br/>They were not, however, prepared to be introduced (by the wrong name!) to an unusually virtuous human detective by Lucifer Himself, Lord of the Bottomless Pit, King of Hell and Final Adversary (original edition). With ancient sins coming back to bite them and prime suspect status in the eyes of their boss, it's all Crowley can do to try and keep Aziraphale safely uninvolved with this whole serial killer mess.</p><p>Of course, that isn't going to work for very long.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>174</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The beginning of-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>.... I have had this thing in a state of mostly finished for months at this point and I really like it but keep not quite getting around to posting it, so- yeah. Screw it! I'm just gonna start posting! Chapters will be posted about once a week.<br/>And thanks to the wonderful erudipitous for being my main beta!</p><p>Anyway, as usual, I will be giving content warnings at the bottom of each chapter as necessary. If you want me to warn for something specific, please let me know!<br/>The only warning for this chapter is that Crowley, especially when terrified, is a fairly unreliable narrator.</p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Echo Park, Los Angeles. </em>
</p><p>Two human-shaped beings sit on a park bench<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>, eating soft-shell tacos while they chat.</p><p>“I told you getting a little more sunlight would be nice!” the skinny one with the drink says, and their grin is positively serpentine. “I mean come on, it’s LA! What’s not to love?” They toss their head back, dark red hair dripping down the back of the bench, though their sunglasses miraculously stay in place.<br/>“I never doubted <em>you’d</em> enjoy this heat for a minute, dear!” the short, round one protests. “This whole city just feels like such a, such a…”<br/>“Bubbling cauldron of sin?” the first speaker drawls. “You make it sound like a bad thing, angel!”<br/>“It <em>is </em>a bad thing!”<br/>“Well of <em>course </em>it’s a bad thing,” comes the retort. “it’s not like your side would take much of an interest in a so-called ‘city of angels’ on Earth. The only angels these people are seeing is themselves, through all the temptations they’ve built.” They pause, taking in their companion’s near-empty hands with a glance. “You done with that?”</p><p>The plump one smiles, and that simple expression alone outshines the blazing sun. “Truly scrumptious, these, these what-do-you-call-them, tacos? Excellent choice.”<br/>“Yeah, yeah.” The tall one practically slithers to their feet, taking the wrappers from their companion’s hands. They go to throw them away…</p><p>~~~</p><p>For Chloe Decker, the beautiful weather and lovely park are all but invisible behind the puzzle of her current case. For Lucifer Morningstar, however, consultant to the LAPD, this is a fine afternoon to be wiled away in yet another case with the detective<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>. Until, that is, he spots an awfully familiar face out of the corner of his eye.<br/>Lucifer freezes. Then he takes a closer look at that skinny thing with the shades and the odd walk throwing away some paper wrappers in the bins. “Is that—” The Devil cuts himself off.<br/><em>Oh fuck, </em>he thinks, <em>it’s that one.</em><br/>“Crawly, is that you?”</p><p>              Crowley doesn’t even hesitate. They shriek, an undignified yelp of surprise, drop the litter where they stand and <em>run</em>—</p><p>“Crawly, what are you—”</p><p><em>              Oh Someone, that’s the King of Hell</em>, Crowley can’t stop thinking. Their heart pounds as they sprint across the park, scattering clouds of startled pigeons in their wake. <em>The actual King! Lucifer himself! Oh, Crowley, Crowley, you’re about to be killed for sure, </em>wiped<em> out of existence like somebody’s half-arsed chalk drawing in the rain—</em></p><p>“Crawly, <em>STOP.”</em></p><p>The demon screeches to a halt.<br/>              It is one thing to avoid the King of Hell in the hopes of avoiding punishment. It’s only common sense, after all, and He is known to appreciate that. Running from him on sight? Not quite so <em>appreciated, </em>per say, though certainly not an <em>unusual</em> reaction. But disobeying direct orders… well. There was no way in Hell it would end in anything but tears. <em>Or, y’know, oblivion,</em> comes the unwelcome mental addition. Desperately, they turn their gaze to their liege, doing their best not to so much as <em>glance </em>at Aziraphale. Maybe they can at least spare their angel the same fate, right?<br/>Crowley clears their throat. “My- my lord?” voice breaking, they do their best to appear nonchalant—head back, shoulders relaxed, weight on their heels<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a>.</p><p>A warm hand closes about their arm in much the way a pair of handcuffs would, except much, <em>much </em>harder to escape.</p><p>              “Crawly, what are you doing here?” That voice is soft.<br/>Crowley decides in that moment that they would very much prefer if Lucifer showed some sort of emotion. Any kind of emotion. At least then they would know where they stand.<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a><br/>              “You aren’t on assignment, are you?”</p><p>Now, Crowley is by nature a bit of a coward.<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a> They know their limits. They know what is and isn’t likely to get them stamped from existence like so much straw tossed uncaring into a fire. For example, right now they know, thanks to the visceral terror of secondhand experience, that the Lord Lucifer Does Not Like Lies. They also know that that hint of steel in his voice implies that said Lord of Hell is Very Well Aware that Crowley should not, in fact, be assigned to LA, and any attempts to claim otherwise will be met with a certain, perfectly reasonable, amount of Wrath.<br/>Hands shaking almost as badly as their attempt at a placating and obedient smile, Crowley tells the truth.</p><p>              “Er… no, actually. I’m, ah, on vacation. Lord.”<br/>Not the whole truth, obviously. But it is not in the slightest worth it to Crowley to risk Aziraphale’s involvement in this conversation. Not even for a somewhat larger sliver of a chance at not being melted into their component atoms by the end of their little <em>talk.</em> “Just, uh, just seeing the sights,” they squeak.</p><p>Those uncomfortably humanlike eyes look the demon up and down. A grin. “Vacation, yes,” Lucifer murmurs. “I didn’t know any of my demons <em>liked </em>vacations.”<br/>              “And, ah, and you, Lord? I thought you were, you know, Downstairs? Busy being king?” Crowley finally manages to get their corporation to swallow, a nervous habit picked up from the humans. What were they doing, asking the Lord of Darkness <em>questions?<br/></em>              “Me?” This time the archdemon’s grin is rather more bloody than the last. “Oh, I’m just taking a vacation. A rather long one. I take it you haven’t been reading your briefings of late, so please, Crawly, ask me how long.”<br/>              “How, um, how long is your vacation going to be, Lord?”<br/>To humans, the way Lucifer bends in toward his demon likely would have read as a simple friendly lean. A little overbearing, perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary. To Crowley, it distinctly <em>looms</em>. The King of Hell whispers in their ear, and Crowley stands as stock still as they possibly can, their universe narrowed to that infernal breath against their skin. And the words Lucifer purrs to their immortal vassal, stinking sweet in expectation?<br/>              “<em>Infinitely long</em>.”</p><p>Crowley jerks back when their arm is at last released.<br/>              “So do me a favor,” Lucifer continues in a more normal voice, though his eyes betray its casual tone. “And <em>don’t</em> <em>cause trouble.”</em></p><p> </p><p>A woman appears next to him. It is probably an indicator of Crowley’s current panic that they do not notice her approach until she has grown so close they can smell the bitter in her perfume.<br/>              “Lucifer, who is this?” she asks.<br/>American, then, and a working woman judging by the circles under her eyes. Something about her aura positively <em>screams</em> goodness, though, and not in the same sterile way as an angel’s did. At least she wasn’t a demon? But the smile which graced Lucifer’s face was uncharacteristically warm.<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a> “Detective!” he exclaims. “Meet Crawly, another of my many siblings.”</p><p>Crowley shivered.</p><p>Anthony J. Crowley had learned to tolerate a lot of absurdity in their life, as well as a lot of name-calling and ignorance from their fellow demons. It was, after all, part of being a demon. But this had not been nearly sufficient to prepare them for being introduced (by the wrong name!) to an unusually virtuous human by Lucifer Himself, Lord of the Bottomless Pit, King of Hell and Final Adversary (original edition), who seemed to actually, genuinely… care about this human. Or at least, Crowley couldn’t feel any of the usual demonic motivations in her as more than background noise. Lust, hate, greed—none of that was a significant part of the connection between Lucifer and this detective!<a href="#_ftn7" id="_ftnref7" name="_ftnref7">[7]</a> Crowley was in no shape whatsoever to keep their mouth from opening and spurting out the first words that came to mind.</p><p>              “It’s, um, it’s <em>Crowley </em>now, actually. Anthony-slash-Ashtoreth J Crowley? I filed for an official name change with Dagon and everything, I mean that was <em>ages</em> ago! But it’s, um, lovely to meet you, detective?”<br/>Shockingly, the Lord of All Fallen did not skewer them for the interruption, literally <em>or </em>metaphorically. Instead, the detective smiled and introduced herself. “Chloe Decker, LAPD.”<br/>It took several seconds for Crowley to remember to shake her hand. “Ngk,” they answered.</p><p>              “He said you’re another brother?” she asked. “How come I’ve never heard of you before?”<br/>Crowley blinked, slowly. “We’re, we’re, we’re not really siblings, per say,” they stammered. Siblings? Seriously? They and Lucifer were only even <em>related </em>in the sense that literally every angel and demon to exist were related! “Really. I mean I guess technically we are, but he’s my… boss?” <em>Old boss</em>, they wanted to say between the pounding of the heart they didn’t need.<em> Former boss</em>. But on the other hand, that was not exactly the sort of thing you said to your official boss, the ruler of Hell if you wanted to continue on existing, so Crowley managed to clamp that part behind their teeth.</p><p>              “Oh come on, brother, we’re from the same stock!” That smile on Lucifer’s face was positively <em>chilling.</em> “Same mother, same father!”<br/>               “Yeah, but that’s hardly unusual! The Almighty—” Crowley clapped a hand over their mouth. Don’t cause trouble, that was the one rule!<br/>              “Oh, I’ve been telling her about dear old dad this whole time, not that she believes me.” Lucifer drawled. “It’s not like I’ve been hiding that I’m the devil.”</p><p>Crowley was beginning to feel faint.<br/>The detective cleared her throat. “Okay, as many questions as I have about your… family,” she interrupted, “Lucifer and I have to get back to work. If you two want to catch up, you can do it later, okay?”<br/>              “Wonderful,” the demon squeaked.</p><p>              “Actually,” Lord Lucifer overruled them, and his very voice filled his erstwhile minion with dread. “I believe Crowley here could shine a little <em>light</em> on our case for us.”<br/>Even Crowley could hear how tired Detective Decker’s sigh sounded when she answered. “Fine. Bring him along, then.”<br/>              “I’m, I’m, I’m a little busy, unfortunately—” Crowley tried.<br/>              “You’re the one who said you’re on vacation!” the Devil grinned. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”<em> For me</em>, echoed the unspoken addendum. <em>And if it’s your fault,</em> the addendum continued, <em>I’ll hang you up by your hamstrings and feed you slowly to the hellhounds.</em> It was a very vocal addendum.<br/>When Crowley continued to hesitate, Lucifer raised a pointed eyebrow. “Do I need to provide some sort of incentive, <em>Crawly?” </em></p><p>Crowley tried not to twitch at the sound of their old name. “No, Lord,” they did their best to keep the misery from their voice. Their best, of course, was not very successful, but the effort was certainly there. “I’ll come.” They bit their lip. “But-but why do you need <em>me?!” </em><br/>              “Why <em>do </em>we need him?” The detective agreed. “He really doesn’t look like he wants to be here, so unless this guy is directly tied up in the case…”</p><p>This time, the smile on Lucifer’s face was far more befitting a King of Hell, frigid and sharp to its very core. “This case looks to me very much like the work of Crawly’s… ilk, shall we say?”</p><p><em>              Oh</em>, Crowley thought to themself.</p><p>              “And as far as I know, they’re the only one capable of this sort of murder anywhere near city limits at the moment.”</p><p><em>              Oh no</em>.</p><p>              “So he’s a suspect,” the detective clarified. “Why do you think he’s the only one who could do that? Ella hasn’t even finished her autopsy yet.”</p><p>That hand clapped back down on Crowley’s shoulder, fingers digging deep into the skin. They were so dead. <em>Fuck, </em>they were so dead, of <em>course </em>whoever did it would be throwing them under the bus!<br/>              “I know what I’m talking about,” the archdemon answered pleasantly.<br/>The detective squinted, first at Crowley, then at Lucifer, and back again. “…right. We’re going to talk about this more later. Mr. Crowley, are you… okay?”</p><p>Were they <em>okay</em>? That was quite a question. Over the course of the last minute and a half, Crowley had gone from feeling <em>slightly</em> faint and extremely terrified, to feeling as if they were about to pass out. They were probably hyperventilating like a marathon runner with asthma. Their heart felt like the hoofbeats that echoed through the ground that one time they’d been to the races, both in that the drumming was overwhelming and in the eerie way it faded in and out. That was probably not a good sign.<br/>They may, in fact, be having a panic attack.</p><p>              “Ngk,” they managed.</p><p>Was the detective staring? The detective was probably staring. The hand on their shoulder tightened, much like the ball of anxiety in their throat.<br/>              “Answer the question, Crowley dear,” came that familiar and adrenaline-inducing velvet.<br/>Crowley being in no state to imagine much of anything just now, the command managed to give them enough of a push to answer properly.<a href="#_ftn8" id="_ftnref8" name="_ftnref8">[8]</a> “I’m fine.” They sucked in a breath. “Look, my Lord Luci- I, I mean Lucifer can find me again, no trouble, so I’m just gonna. Gonna leave. For now. Bye.”</p><p>They did not ask if that was okay with anyone. After all, if they asked, their Lord could always refuse. Instead, Crowley simply walked off as quickly as they could manage, slipping from his master’s grasp like the snake they were. Lucifer did not force their return.</p><p>They could hear him arguing with the human.</p><p><em>              Quite the balls on her, to bicker with the King of Hell, </em>Crowley thought<em>, even if he wasn’t half so terrifying to a human as he is to other celestials.</em> The moment they were out of sight behind a tree, Crowley dropped to the ground, knees clutched to their chest. “I just spoke to Lucifer Himself,” Crowley whispered. “Oh my go—Sat— I just—”</p><p>They weren’t dead.</p><p>~~~</p><p>“You stay here.” Chloe’s voice brooked no nonsense. “I will go get his phone number or something, I can’t just let a possible suspect wander off. Even if I think you’re probably overreacting, and he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. <em>Especially </em>if it looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.”</p><p>It isn’t safe!” the Devil all but wailed. He looked like nothing in that moment so much as a puppy, whining for his owner to return.</p><p>A glare. “I’ll be fine, Lucifer.” She strode off to follow the man, ducked behind the tree, and—Crowley was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Aziraphale had spent the past <em>twenty minutes</em> waiting for his demon to return from the bins.</p><p>Crowley wasn’t far, he knew that much.<br/>He could <em>feel</em> the demon when he tried, less than a mile away and in perfectly lovely health. Perhaps they’d gotten distracted, or mislaid, talking to someone, or any other perfectly innocent explanation! Aziraphale was simply beginning to get… worried.</p><p>He had just about made up his mind to try and find him when a little grey snake slid onto the bench.</p><p>“Crowley?” That was odd, Aziraphale thought. Normally Crowley preferred a larger form, if they were to be a snake.<a href="#_ftn9" id="_ftnref9" name="_ftnref9">[9]</a> But this certainly felt like them.</p><p>The snake slipped onto Aziraphale’s leg and up his hand, climbing until they wrapped around the angel’s neck, hanging their head a few inches from his ear.<br/>“Lucifer,” came a strangled hiss. “Lucifer’s here. He saw me.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s heart forgot to beat.<br/>“Oh,” he murmured. “Oh dear.”</p><p>The two of them were gone, quite literally, in a snap.</p><p> </p><hr/><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> One of them sits and eats, in any case. The other man could only really be described as sprawled, or perhaps lounged, across the bench, and the only thing between his lips is the straw of his horchata.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> The Detective, really, in his mind. Capital letters are important.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> As it happens, this does not look “casual”. It looks like every molecule in Crowley’s body is doing its level best to spontaneously be <em>anywhere but here.</em></p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> <em>Who am I kidding</em>, Crowley thinks. <em>I know perfectly well where I stand: I stand in front of the Lord of Hell with a currently-metaphorical, but probably soon-to-be-literal noose around my neck.</em></p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Okay, maybe a lot of a coward.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> There was a small grey area there, between cold-and-uncaring-ruler and hot-and-menacing which actually seemed… affectionate? Friendly? In any case, it made Crowley extremely uncomfortable coming from the Boss.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> Except perhaps a little bit of lust.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref8" id="_ftn8" name="_ftn8">[8]</a> It’s not like they actually needed breath to make sound, anyway. It was just more comfortable that way.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref9" id="_ftn9" name="_ftn9">[9]</a> Usually about twenty-five feet long, more or less. Something about the smaller body feeling cramped.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. -an end is something special;</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No content warnings needed this chapter, at least not that I can think of. <br/>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Detective Chloe Decker was having a relatively normal day.</p><p> It had started with the new case, as her days often did. Two murders, or at least two deaths, one seemingly devoured by a swarm of bugs—Ella suspected some kind of larva or caterpillar—and the other appeared to have straight-up had a heart attack an hour or so later, both in the same apartment. It was a weird one, even for her. She’d walked into the room to check out the crime scene—</p><p>And Lucifer turned pale.</p><p>And refused, point-blank <em>refused, </em>to explain his reaction.<br/>
<em>              Damn the man</em>, she couldn’t help but think. He <em>wanted</em> to be trusted, and she <em>wanted</em> to trust him, but things like this, keeping <em>secrets </em>from her never ended well! They never had in the past, at least. And it couldn’t just be the dead bodies, strange and gory as they were, because Lucifer almost <em>never </em>had a problem with that, and why wouldn’t he explain it if he did? Which was why, when Lucifer insisted they go take lunch in Echo Park, she resolved to keep a firm eye on her partner.</p><p>Lucifer sat them down on a bench, got up to order them both food from a nearby truck while Chloe checked over her files. By the time she looked up—</p><p><em>Damnit</em>.<br/>
Where even <em>was</em> he this time?</p><p>              After a moment’s frantic search, Chloe found him. Lucifer just about <em>lounged </em>over the shoulders of some slight, androgynous man with dark, dyed red hair and an almost coppery brown skin, one arm grasping the stranger’s wrist. She couldn’t see either of their faces from here, except the little snakelike tattoo at the stranger’s temple. Lucifer leaned to one side—</p><p>Chloe frowned. The stranger looked… terrified, honestly, his sunglasses fixed on Lucifer’s face, practically cowering before him like he expected to be hit<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>. He couldn’t even seem to manage a polite smile, just a sort of surprised-looking grimace. Who in the <em>hell? </em>Lucifer normally tried to <em>charm </em>people, not make them shit themselves. Was this even related to the case?</p><p>Chloe’s power walk took her to her partner’s side in under a minute.<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a><br/>
              “Lucifer, who is this?” she carefully restrained herself from the thousand other questions which came to mind, such as <em>why are you clutching him like he murdered you dog </em>and <em>what on Earth did you do to this man in the first place</em>?</p><p>The stranger’s glance, while shell-shocked, was as analytical as any detective’s, sizing her up in moments. She couldn’t really tell what he made of her, though, behind those glasses.<br/>
              “Detective!” Lucifer went from cold and unfamiliar to smiles and sunshine in an instant.<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a> He introduced the man as <em>Crawly, </em>of all things, another brother. <em>Who the hell</em>, Chloe couldn’t keep the thought from her brain, <em>names their child</em> Crawly<em>?! </em>Not to mention<em> who names their child Lucifer</em>, but that part, at least, was old news.</p><p>Crawly shivered. And in this 90-degree LA heat, that was saying something.<br/>
              “It’s, um, it’s <em>Crowley </em>now, actually,” he stuttered. So he and Lucifer must not be in contact. That made it… slightly less weird. Or was that worse? “Anthony J. Crowley? I filed for a name change and everything,” the man started to babble. He winced when Lucifer caught his eye, and stopped talking. “Anyway, it's lovely to meet you, detective.”</p><p>His accent was slightly different from Lucifer’s, she was beginning to notice. More… Scottish, maybe? Lower class? She wasn’t an expert on British accents. Still, Amenadiel was distinctly African <em>American, </em>so it couldn’t be as strange as all that for their accents to differ.<br/>
Chloe smiled and introduced herself. She offered a hand—and it took almost an entire minute for Crowley to take it, shaken as he was. “Chloe Decker, LAPD.” After a brief pause, she continued. “He said you’re another brother? How come I’ve never heard about you before?”</p><p>This point mostly just seemed to confuse the man<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a>. His weight shifted from foot to foot, his head cocked itself just a few degrees. “We’re, we’re, we’re not really siblings, per say?”</p><p>Chloe couldn’t help her squint. Not really brothers. So they were adopted? Or…</p><p>“He’s my… boss?” The stranger ventured.<br/>
<em>              Wait, what? His boss</em>. She swallowed, hands clenching automatically at her shirt. Boss. Not brothers. Was Lucifer just imagining it? She had no idea his delusions were half that bad, I mean imagining entire family members—but then, Crowley hadn’t denied the idea outright, so maybe they were just… adopted? Half-siblings? Chloe let out a breath. Crowley still wasn’t altogether refuting it, something about the Almighty—did he run with this whole “God” allegory too?—so that had to be it. Right? <em>Right</em>, she reassured herself. He did seem surprised, though, when Lucifer mentioned his… identity. Chloe filed that part away for later.<br/>
              “Okay,” she interrupted. “As many questions as I have about your family, Lucifer and I have to get back to work. If you two want to catch up, you can do so later, got it?”</p><p>The relief on Crowley’s face was deep enough to drown in.<br/>
And then Lucifer lucifered.</p><p> </p><p>              “Actually,” Lucifer grinned, and something about that expression just didn’t sit right with her. “I believe Crowley here could shed a little light on our case.”</p><p><em>Of course he’d say that</em>, Chloe sighed. <em>And whether or not this random guy is actually related to the case, he’ll no doubt turn out to be a helpful resource, even if Lucifer is just being delusional in blaming him.</em> She knew how this went by now.<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a> Something must have gone over her head here, though, because Lucifer’s joking retort to his protests left Crowley shaking where he stood, staring at Lucifer like he’d just proposed a summary execution.<br/>
It was her turn to be confused.</p><p>              “Lucifer…” she started to interject.<br/>
              “Do I need to provide some sort of incentive, Crawly?”<br/>
Chloe shifted on her feet. This was starting to get… uncomfortable. For one thing, that note in his voice was starting to sound sweet very much in a poison apple kind of way, more the Lucifer who slipped confessions out of people than the Lucifer who joked with Ella in the precinct. It was, really, the voice of the man she’d once met who calmly played the piano while he talked to the cops, twenty minutes after watching a dear friend breathe her last gasps and personally interrogating the man who’d pulled the trigger.<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a></p><p>Crowley’s head snapped up. His face went still but for the flicking of a tongue. “No, Lord.  I’ll come.” His voice trembled, so quiet it was almost a whisper. Next came a question, bursting forth from the stranger’s lips much like a frog on a firecracker, only more alive than a frog on a firecracker would be for long. “But why do you need me?!”<br/>
 The instant the question left his mouth the man looked about as regretful as the frog, too, cowering before his supposed brother. It was time to step in.</p><p>              “Why <em>do </em>we need him?” Chloe asked. Her eyes flicked back to Lucifer. “He really doesn’t look like he wants to be here, so unless this guy is directly tied up in the case…” <em>You can’t make him help</em>, she finished mentally. <em>Not unless he wants to, or we have evidence against him</em>. So far all they had was Lucifer’s say-so, and however right he happened to be, most of the time—that shouldn’t be enough.<br/>
She did her best to ignore just how cold his answering smile was.</p><p>              “This case looks to me very much like the work of Crawly’s… ilk, shall we say?” Causing someone to be devoured by bugs, definitely a recognizable M.O.<a href="#_ftn7" id="_ftnref7" name="_ftnref7">[7]</a> But <em>ilk? </em>Did he mean… whatever ethnicity Crowley happened to be or…?<br/>
              “So he’s a suspect,” Chloe sighed. Of course. She couldn’t be too hard on this Crowley, though, given that all the evidence against him so far was Lucifer’s claim. “Why do you think he’s the only one who could do… that? Ella hasn’t even finished yet, I mean we don’t even really know what happened!”<br/>
Lucifer’s reply almost sounded hurt. “I know what I’m talking about!” <em>Don’t you trust me by now, detective? </em>The words went unsaid, but not unheard. Why was he so insistent that this guy was the culprit anyway? Just because he was (possibly) his brother?</p><p>Chloe’s eyes fell back to Crowley.<br/>
The man by now stood ramrod straight, head tucked up beneath those too-stiff shoulders. It looked, honestly, as if he’d decided that while it may be impossible to both cower and stand at attention simultaneously, Crowley was going to give such a maneuver his best damned shot. His face was bony white around the edges despite his dark complexion, his hands still trembled—he looked like death warmed over.<br/>
              “Are you… okay?” Chloe couldn’t help it. She had to ask.</p><p>The man seemed unable to answer with more than a tongue-tied grunt. Personally, Chloe was perfectly willing to let it go and let the poor guy recover a bit, but Lucifer—well, he intervened.</p><p>              “Answer the question, Crowley dear,” came the soft words.</p><p>Had he even noticed how awful a state Crowley was in? <em>He can’t possibly be trying to help,</em> Chloe frowned. Honestly, that sounded almost more like a threat, some kind of admonition than a gentle prod. Whatever the remark was intended as, however, it seemed to help, given that Crowley did successfully get an answer out.</p><p>              “I’m… fine,” the stranger managed. Why was he still this <em>tense? </em>She could hear it in his voice, even, reverberating like a bowstring.<br/>
              “Look,” Crowley continued, and this time the words came out in a rush. “My Lord Luc—er, I mean, <em>Lucifer</em> can find me again, no trouble.” He sucked in a frantic breath.<br/>
There was that <em>Lord </em>title again. What the hell was that about?<br/>
              “I’m just gonna. Gonna leave,” he stuttered, “right now, so uh…”</p><p>It was as if his arm had turned to oil, the way it slipped from Lucifer’s grasp. Chloe had literally never seen anyone get away from him like that, and yet—by the time Crowley finished his sentence, he was halfway to the nearest tree, twenty feet away. Chloe grabbed her partner’s arm in turn before he could go after him.</p><p>“Don’t.” she ordered. “Lucifer, I don’t care who that guy is, but he looks scared to death. We can pick him up again later.”</p><p>Lucifer’s face suddenly grew solemn, and a little frantic about the edges. “No. No, Detective, you don’t understand—”<br/>
              “What did he ever do to you?!” Chloe hissed. <em>Calm down</em>, she told herself. <em>Lucifer is obviously freaking out too, and I have about as much context for this whole mess as your average Disney prince</em>. “He looks petrified!” she burst out. “Why do you think he’s the murderer, anyway?! And don’t tell me all that horseshit about his ‘ilk’. I don’t even know what you mean by that, unless you’ve decided to become a racist ass all of a sudden.”</p><p>Lucifer hesitated. “It’s… complicated, and you won’t understand.” Those brown eyes fixed themselves to her like he was trying to suck her soul closer to him by the power of his gaze alone. It only made saying she <em>wouldn’t understand </em>sound <em>slightly</em> less irritable, though. “I… I’ve been directing Crowley for <em>centuries, </em>Detective, not that you’ll believe that. And through all that, I mean they’re, they’re about the most cunning, wily old serpent there ever was. Started the Spanish Inquisition, the First World War, I mean I’ve been getting reports from them this whole time.<a href="#_ftn8" id="_ftnref8" name="_ftnref8">[8]</a> And then, just a few decades back, <em>very </em>recently in the grand scheme of things, they—”<br/>
Another pause. <em>What</em> was he <em>hiding</em>?<br/>
 “They betrayed me,” Lucifer whispered finally, his voice pleading. “Please. Crowley can’t be trusted.”</p><p> Chloe sighed. Lucifer tells the truth, tells <em>only </em>the truth, she knew that. But the whole truth? He sounded earnest, yes, almost <em>afraid</em>, but… “Do you have any evidence of… well, of any of this?”<br/>
              “No, but—”<br/>
              “Then I will treat him as a <em>suspect, </em>Lucifer, and not the only one.” As a small concession, she did make sure her gun was easily accessible in its holster—though then again, it wasn’t like she was prepared to just shoot the man. “I will go get his phone number or something, invite him down to the station. I can’t just let a possible suspect wander off, even though I think you’re probably overreacting and he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.” She glared. “<em>Especially </em>if it looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.” And maybe she’d get a chance ask Crowley about these, these delusions of Lucifer’s. Had he always been like this? Or was it just a stage persona, one he never let down in her presence?</p><p>              “But it isn’t <em>safe!” </em>Lucifer protested, and this time Chloe hesitated. He really did care for her, she knew that much. Why on earth was he this convinced the stranger was dangerous? Betrayal—maybe Crowley was responsible for him getting kicked out of the house when they were kids or whatever it had been? She shook her head.<br/>
“I’ll be fine, Lucifer.”<br/>
Chloe got to the tree where Crowley had disappeared in seconds.</p><p>Nothing. She looked around. The man was nowhere to be found.</p><p>~~~</p><p>              Two figures lurked outside a pale pink house, crushing the row of geraniums under their feet. The shorter figure spoke to the other, their face an odd, cool brown with bulging pale eyes and the occasional subtle bluish whorl in its skin. “Do you think that will be enough?” the short one's voice was a whispered rasp, and old as dust. “Or do we need to make it even more obvious?”</p><p>A tall, lean silhouette lit a cigarette from one finger and answered as he took a drag. “Nah. Give it a day or two, then try again. The Wrath part’ll come soon enough, so long as we keep killing. This shithole’s supposed to be <em>His </em>city. He’s bound to notice the other demons on his playground eventually.”<br/>
              “You realize this is betrayal, on your side?”<br/>
The tall one shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, I’m not the one betraying anybody, I’m just following orders. You want treason charges, all that’ll go to my Prince. Not to mention that stuffed-up feathery fuck that calls itself your boss.”</p><p>              “I am only following orders,” the soft-voiced one said stiffly. “If Michael courts any crime in interfering in Hell’s affairs, that is their business, and theirs alone. I thank you for your… aid. Vile fiend.”<br/>
The tall one gave a half-bow more sarcastic than any it had seen before. A maggot fell from its face.<br/>
“My pleasure. Criminal.”</p><p>The shorter figure seemed unfazed when it turned its face upward. “Michael?” it murmured. “I’m ready now.”<br/>
There was a flash, and the figure was gone.</p><p> </p><p>Hastur grinned a rotting grin. Black slime oozed from a cut on his gums, the same jelly which filled those empty eye sockets. “Go ahead, feathers,” he muttered. “I’m not the one with room to Fall.” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> He was, in fact, not just <em>practically </em>cowering, but executing the single most fearful cringe Chloe had ever seen in her life, above and beyond even that of the average innocent bystander being held hostage by some maniac with a gun.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> She had perfected her power walk shortly after starting to work with Lucifer, into a masterpiece of a gait that didn’t even betray her concern/alarm/exasperation at his endless antics.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> As usual. Insufferable man.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> It was not the first time he’d looked confused over the course of this conversation.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> It was, again, not the first time.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> Lucifer always tried to hide that face around her, but she still noticed it sometimes, and it shook her to her core.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> If somewhat less unique than Chloe realized</p><p><a href="#_ftnref8" id="_ftn8" name="_ftn8">[8]</a> The reports didn’t actually <em>say </em>these things, necessarily, they were just… heavily implied.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the end of a beginning,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And the case continues!</p><p>No content warnings needed :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              “Okay, I’m all out of leads.” Chloe sighed. “The neighbors all have alibis, he hadn’t fought with anyone recently, the family’s either long-dead or out of town<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>.” She leaned back in her chair, stretching legs that hadn’t moved in too long. “Crowley said you had a way to contact him, is that true?”</p><p>A breath.<br/>
Odd, that, how Lucifer only ever seemed to really <em>breathe </em>when it seemed important. Like punctuation, almost. “Not precisely contact,” he murmured, “but yes, I suppose I can. Don’t tell me you want to talk to him.”<br/>
              “Of course I do,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “I told you, I’m out of other leads, and your ideas do tend to be at least marginally helpful. Come on, call him and I’ll let you sit in when I ask him questions.” To be honest, she probably couldn’t keep Lucifer out even if she tried. Still, the proffered deal seemed to work.<br/>
              “I suppose.” Lucifer sounded more dubious than a groundhog on the first day of spring. “But it isn’t exactly a telephone call, so I’m going to need a good few minutes to get a hold of him. Come to think of it, I’d really rather go back to Lux to do it.<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>” He didn’t, after all, want video footage of the… operation, so to speak, and would rather avoid having to miracle himself the supplies. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”</p><p>Chloe winced. If she was honest, she’d really rather not leave Lucifer alone with this particular suspect, given the way Crowley had acted the other day. But—she had to trust her partner, right? Chloe let out a breath. “Just make sure to bring him right back here when you’ve got him. No side trips, no delays. I don’t want you terrifying the poor man any further on the way.”</p><p>A cheerful smile. “Whatever you say, detective.”</p><p>~~~</p><p>Alone in his penthouse, Lucifer lurked.<br/>
Well, not <em>lurked, </em>exactly. He did have a purpose in being here, and he hadn’t been waiting long. It was, however, decidedly a <em>lurk</em> in that a cloud of dread surrounded him from his head to his toes, gumming up the emotional atmosphere for several feet in each direction. Unusually for a lurker, it was his own dread.</p><p>He hadn’t lied.<br/>
Crowley was <em>terrifying. </em></p><p>Lucifer could take them, of course, even without his wings to help. That wasn’t the problem. Crowley was a pretty minor threat to a fellow celestial, never being a particularly powerful demon to begin with, at least not as far as fallen angels went. Crowley was, however, infamously <em>wily. </em>And just because they weren’t a threat to other celestials didn’t mean they would be no threat to humans, poor fragile humans, especially if anyone let that forked tongue start wagging. And Crowley didn’t follow orders! What would he do, Lucifer wondered despondently, if Crowley hurt the Detective?<br/>
He bit his lip.<br/>
Or if Crowley hurt the offspring, Ella, or Linda, or even that moron Dan? He simply couldn’t predict it! Crowley was involved, <em>had </em>to be involved, this case had demonic fingerprints all over it and he couldn’t allow <em>that</em>. He couldn’t allow interference. So instead of protesting, instead of doing his best to cut the rogue demon out of the case entirely, here Lucifer was.<br/>
Summoning them.</p><p>              The ritual to summon a demon was much simpler for Lucifer than it was for the humans, though it followed largely the same principles. He did, after all, already have a very strong tie to Crowley, being at least theoretically the demon’s liege lord, and he already knew all the names (or Names, as the case may be) needed for the spell.</p><p>A chalk diagram was the first step, traced on the floor of his beloved Lux, spelling out his request alongside Crowley’s name, a serpentine squiggle, seven times along the ring. Seven candles were placed at the edges and lit with a thought. Ordinarily, a human would also have seven concentric rings: the intent of the spell, the description of the target<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a>, and the connection to the target, followed by the source of power for the spell, the source of power for the shield, a charm allowing for sound and light to pass through the shield, and the innermost ring as a barrier to shield the caster (and the spell) from whatever ended up inside.</p><p>Lucifer had enough power within himself alone to summon dozens of demons without even breaking for lunch, and held a connection to Crowley simply by virtue of existing.</p><p> As such, all he needed was the actual spell’s intent, since he had no need to worry about protecting himself from his own vassal—and, of course, a small sacrifice to initiate the ritual. Blood was most common—but a freshly laid egg, in most cases, would do.</p><p>He cracked the egg into a bowl.</p><p>Spoke a few words of Enochian which hung like crystal in the air:</p><p>“Crowley, come to me.”</p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, a few thousand miles northward, an angel and a demon sat beside a campfire.</p><p>Well, not really sat. It was more like a sort of full body cuddle, between a great grey snake and a plump humanoid figure with shining wings of a soft, almost lilac grey, with the occasional black spot. This was not Aziraphale’s true form, of course, nor was it Crowley’s—but in their true forms, any humans to pass would have been blinded instantly, and that was rather too much of a risk to take.<br/>
They had not been camping long.</p><p>               “Just a few days,” Aziraphale assured the serpent whose head burrowed into his neck. “He probably won’t be looking for us after that, and we can get back to our vacation.” The snake was silent. “If all goes well, he’ll leave us alone as soon as we’re out of his hair.”<br/>
              “You can’t know that,” hissed a voice. “This is the Lord of Hell we’re talking about, Aziraphale. He’s…. what’s the word, ruthlessssss,” it took a few seconds for Crowley to get their tongue back under control. “We already defied him once. He isn’t going to allow it again.”</p><p>The angel hesitated. “We could call Adam, I suppose. Try and get him to do whatever it is he did again, make certain it all works out.”<br/>
              “I ssssupose—” The snake tensed, all of a sudden. “Oh f—”<br/>
And then Aziraphale was alone.</p><p>              “Crowley?” he whispered. That familiar demonic aura was nowhere to be found. The angel stood, and as he did, he sent his spirit questing out as far as he could for his best friend in all the world.</p><p>Crowley was in Los Angeles.</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes a moment, searching for stability against the rising churning in his gut. <em>Oh dear</em>, he thought. But if the Lord of Hell had Crowley in his grasp, there was only one thing for it: he’d have to get him back. A pause. “Yes,” he said, and his apparent calm was betrayed by the tremble of his voice. “Yes, I suppose I will have to fetch you back myself.” The wings opened, and as the campfire trickled miraculously into ash, an angel rose.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Lucifer had been ready for a lot of things, summoning a demon.</p><p>He had not expected this.<br/>
              “C… Crawly?” he asked the snake in the circle. It was plainly not just any snake, dark and dusty grey and most importantly about thirty feet in length, its body so wide Lucifer would not be able to encircle it without both hands at his disposal. “Is that you in there?”</p><p>It wasn’t that most demons <em>couldn’t </em>take shapes that were other than humanoid. They simply… rarely did, for longer than a few minutes. They hadn’t the imagination for it. Perhaps it was different, for the Snake of Eden. Perhaps this was—not Crowley’s true form, of course, which would be much less physical and certainly more complex—but closer, somewhat. But if that was true, then why had Lucifer always heard of this particular demon being in human form, before now? Either way, Crowley was back to human in a flash, those yellow eyes wide.<br/>
              “Lord,” they stammered.</p><p>              “Crowley.”<br/>
Lucifer reigned himself in as best he could. This was a demon, after all, regardless of whether it was under his actual control. He had to present himself as the King of Hell, ineffable and inarguable, ready to squish any disobedient servants into void. Especially with one as dangerous as this. “The Detective wants to speak with you.”</p><p>Did the demon just… <em>squeak</em>?</p><p>              “I am going to make myself abundantly clear, <em>Crawly,” </em>Lucifer kept his tone deceptively casual. “The Detective, and all the people around her, are <em>mine.” </em>His eyes flashed. “Hurt so much as a hair on their heads, a thought in their minds, and I will <em>smite you</em> from this world until the end of time. I trust you realize I don’t <em>need </em>holy water to erase <em>you.</em>” He gave a frozen smile. It was no major trial to keep the tremble from his hands, the fear from his voice. He was perfectly capable of acting more menacing than he truly felt. He had millennia of practice, after all. Truth to tell, Lucifer didn’t know <em>what </em>he would do if the Detective in particular got hurt—smear the culprit across a wall, of course, but after that? It was horrifying to think about. “You are going to <em>behave yourself,”</em> he growled. “Act human. These humans are mine to tempt, mine to damn, mine to take. Understood?”</p><p>              “Yes, lord,” Crowley whimpered. Whimpered! Not in that sniveling, ingratiating way so many demons seemed to think was the only way to show deference to their Ruler – no, this demon just looked honestly terrified.<br/>
Lucifer swallowed. Crowley was clearly an astonishingly good actor. Maybe the demon was up to something? He had to be careful; there would be no leaving them unsupervised on Earth, even if that meant Lucifer had to rearrange all his plans for the week.<br/>
“Right,” he murmured. “Come along, then. Time to go.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Within the hour, Lucifer was back at the precinct.</p><p>              Chloe knew something was wrong the moment he arrived. There was no genial call announcing his arrival, no cheeky grin on his face. If anything, he just looked… tense. The man beside him didn’t look much better, slithering miserably across the floor as if even being here was a death sentence.<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a><br/>
              “Detective,” Lucifer’s hand tightened on the suspect’s shoulder. “He’s here.”</p><p> </p><p>True to her word, Lucifer got to sit in on the interrogation. Or at least on the other side of the two-way mirror with Dan, where he couldn’t continue to scare the suspect sprawling on the table.</p><p>              “Look,” Crowley was saying. “I’m just here on a vacation, I’ve only been in the Americas for a week or two already.”<br/>
              “Well that’s fine then.” Chloe kept her tone flat. “This happened three days ago. You said you were in LA by then. Do you know this man?”  </p><p>A photo on her phone, of the victim a few weeks before the murder. There wasn’t enough left of the body now to identify, but they’d found a wallet on it completely intact.<br/>
Crowley shook his head. “Never seen him before in my life.”<br/>
              “I’m sure.” The detective commented blandly. “His name was Larry Jenkins. Did you know he’s dead?”</p><p>The stranger’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. He shrugged. “Am I supposed to?” If anything, he just looked… nervous, and a touch confused. Chloe wasn’t entirely sure whether that made him more suspicious or less.<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a><br/>
              “So you don’t care.”<br/>
              “Not particularly.” Crowley’s tongue flicked out of his mouth for a moment, a flicker of motion. “Humans die all the time, detective. It’s sad, but not especially shocking.”<br/>
              “Humans. Right.” God, was this guy like Lucifer too? Thinking he wasn’t human, or pretending, or whatever it was? Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue. “Care to wager a guess how he died?”<br/>
              “I, I really don’t—”</p><p>Another picture slid across the table. It really was gruesome, bones picked halfway clean by whatever those bugs had been—moths, according to Ella. Crowley turned <em>green</em>.</p><p>But after a moment he swallowed, and heaved in a deep breath. There was a sort of full-body shudder before Crowley glanced back down at the picture. “…bugger,” a whisper. “No wonder he thinks it’s me.”</p><p> Chloe frowned. “Who, Lucifer?”<br/>
              “Of <em>course </em>Lucifer, who else?” he snapped. “That looks like the work of a demon, probably, I mean unless there’s something else that could cause a person to be devoured alive by bugs in Los Angeles.” Trembling fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “Definitely one of, well Lucifer would call them our siblings. Not me, I mean. I’d say Hastur at a guess, the arse has always had it out for me, especially after Ligur—but then again,” Crowley’s brow furrowed as he thought, “I don’t think he knows I’m in LA unless he’s been reading reports he shouldn’t have access to. It’s not like <em>he’s </em>my superior, thank G—Sa—thank Manchester.”</p><p>              Interesting, that the scheming seemed to calm him down a bit. Crowley actually looked <em>less </em>nervous now, and more thoughtful, though the way he pressed his lips together didn’t exactly make him seem comfortable either. “And as far as I know, the bastard’s at least loyal to our Lord-Who-Is-Not-In-Heaven, as far as demons go. Too stupid for anything else.” He rolled his eyes, a hint of arrogance showing through as he forgot his terror for a moment. “Besides, Hastur’s a stickler about his work. If it were him, you wouldn’t have a body, just a bunch of bleached bones.”</p><p>“But how do we know it wasn’t <em>you, </em>Crowley?” Lucifer’s voice was half question, half taunt from the speakers by the ceiling. <em>Trust Lucifer to interject whenever he gets the chance,</em> Chloe sighed.</p><p>              “Have you got an alibi we can check?” she asked. “Anything?” Crowley paled. If he was trying to hide his lack of alibi, he was doing an exceptionally awful job of it. “I, ah…” His eyes darted toward the mirror. “I was at a…” he hesitated. “Look, can I tell you without my Lord listening in?” he whimpered. “I really don’t want him to—”<br/>
<em>To what?</em> Hear? Hurt him? Figure something out? God, what she wouldn’t give to get honest explanations out of literally<em> any</em> member of this family.</p><p>              “Fine,” Chloe snapped. “Dan, get Lucifer out of here for a minute. I’ll let you know when you two can come back inside.” She waited a few seconds for the inevitable protest, until Dan knocked on the window of the room, thumbs up. She turned her attention back to the suspect. “Well?”</p><p>Crowley seemed instantly calmer. “I was at a coffee shop in San Francisco that morning— Black Bear Beans, I think it was called? I didn’t eat anything, but I did have some kind of fancy black coffee, don’t remember what.”<br/>
              “Is there anyone who can confirm that?”<br/>
              “Besides the wait staff?” he hesitated. “I was with a… friend. Goes by Ezra Fell, we were just… spending some time together.”<br/>
              “And you don’t want Lucifer finding out.”<br/>
The man winced. “Correct. I don’t want Ezra Fell involved in this mess <em>at all</em> if he doesn’t have to be, he has nothing to do with any of it and he doesn’t deserve to be caught in my mess.<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a> Besides, my Lord might <em>actually </em>kill me this time if he knew I’ve been… fraternizing.” A shudder. “I may not work for him anymore, but it’s not like his power over me just stopped working the day I decided to desert.”</p><p>Chloe pursed her lips. They reminded her of two strange cats, each jumping at the other’s slightest movement, whether hostile or not. “Why are you so scared of him?” she asked, half on impulse. “It’s not like he’s going to do anything to you.”<br/>
The man looked utterly bemused.<br/>
“Is he?” she prompted. “What did you do for him, back when you were working together?”</p><p>Crowley squinted behind those sunglasses. “Why aren’t <em>you</em> more scared of him? Lucifer was never much of one for subtlety, and you’re a clever girl. Should have him bang to rights by now.”</p><p>When Chloe continued to stare at him, he finally answered the question, though his hands fidgeted on the table. “Look. Lucifer’s an extraordinarily scary person, detective. And my boss. And my… brother, I suppose,” his face twisted in distaste. “Even though we haven’t got on very well in a <em>very</em> long time. Especially not since the, uh, the thing, I mean last time we met, he actually tried to kill me! Or I think he was going to kill me?<a href="#_ftn7" id="_ftnref7" name="_ftnref7">[7]</a> He didn’t really get the chance that time around, so I don’t know for sure. I suppose I may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, I mean I <em>was</em> rather in the middle of things, <em>definitely</em> against orders. And then Beelz tried to execute me for it, presumably on my Lord’s orders.”</p><p>Chloe drew in a sharp breath. Lucifer, killing someone? God, she wished it was harder to believe that Lucifer could do that. “<em>Has </em>he ever hurt you? Personally?”</p><p>“I, I, I mean,” Crowley glanced at where the other lurked outside the window. “Not… personally, not in a very long while. He’s not… the <em>worst</em> boss he could be.<a href="#_ftn8" id="_ftnref8" name="_ftnref8">[8]</a> But I haven’t talked to him much, really, since it all started, I mean I mostly know him by reputation now except for…” he trailed off. Those black-painted fingernails drummed on the table, tap-tap-tap-tap. “I betrayed him, you know, a few years back. I was going to be executed, but I managed to wriggle out of it,” he babbled, “and I thought they’d just sort of forgotten about me, decided to let me be, but…”</p><p>“But now you have his attention.”</p><p>Crowley nodded, a grim and tiny motion. “Lucifer rules the Legions of the Damned, detective. I am very, very damned.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> With the exception of the victim’s great-aunt Emmy, who had faked her husband’s death about thirty years prior in order to hide their divorce, and who had since enjoyed a life of downright debauchery between her busy life of beach parties, petty thievery, and a particularly lively dominoes club. She had not spoken to her nephew in years.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Chloe, being used to Lucifer’s antics, took this in stride and did not ask any awkward questions about how, exactly, he meant to get in contact with him or why it might take time and privacy.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Humans rarely had access to a demon’s true Name, and so were typically forced to work off of detailed descriptions instead</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> If Crowley had been a little less terrified, they might have found a spark of hope in the fact that Lucifer was hauling them around to a bunch of humans. Unfortunately, they were in no state to notice that sort of nuance.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Probably more. It was her job to be suspicious, after all, and she still didn’t know why Lucifer seemed genuinely scared of the man.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> Chloe found herself mildly surprised by the way Crowley pronounced his friend’s name here, like a single flowing word instead of two.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> As a matter of fact, during the Armaggedon-that-Wasn’t, Lord Lucifer, King of the Nine Hells, had been almost entirely focused on figuring out what the Hell was going on, and barely even noticed the angel and the demon at his supposed son’s side.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref8" id="_ftn8" name="_ftn8">[8]</a> Lucifer at least had a touch of creativity, and didn’t usually go after his own demons without a cause. Not to mention, Hell would be about a million times worse without the vague semblance of order he instilled.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. -somehow worse.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No content warnings needed this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              “Why is it,” Chloe asked, “that Crowley seems <em>convinced </em>that you fully intend to murder him in his sleep?” She leaned over her desk, hands flat on the table. They’d left Crowley in the interview room for the moment, having finished up with all their questions so far. He’d been… cooperative, mostly, even if he was a little evasive about his activities in LA. Nothing out of the bounds of reasonable for a fairly private person, though Chloe was surprised he hadn’t yet called in a lawyer.</p><p>The look Lucifer gave her was flat, about as plainly serious as she’d ever seen the man. “Crowley is a demon, Detective, and not one like Maze that mostly works her mischief under my command. They are <em>dangerous.”<br/>
</em>              <em>This again? </em>Chloe rolled her eyes. “My <em>job </em>is dangerous, Lucifer. You can’t start trying to keep me out of it. Why does this guy practically shit his pants the moment he sees you?”<br/>
 Lucifer made a frustrated noise.<br/>
              “No more secrets,” she pressed.</p><p> A glare.<br/>
              “Fine,” the word left a sour taste in Lucifer’s mouth. “Fine.”<br/>
He took a deep breath.<br/>
“A few years ago, Crowley killed someone. Another demon named Ligur. That was the first I’d heard, really, of Crowley since the Garden. I read up on their reports, and <em>terrifying </em>reports they were, and the worst of it was, Crowley then proceeded to <em>stop following orders.” </em>Lucifer looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, if the lemon were also inspiration to fear. “They misplaced my <em>son</em>! And did a number of other important things, and by the time I finished reading the reports, I was altogether glad they’d disobeyed me, but by then bloody Beelzebub had already given them a trial and dunked them in holy water! They’re supposed to be dead!<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>”</p><p>There was silence.<br/>
              “Is that what’s scaring you?” Chloe asked, her voice loud as a pin dropping in the quiet. “The fact that he’s supposed to be dead?”</p><p>              “I don’t want them to hurt you.”</p><p>It took a moment for the rest of Lucifer’s rant to unroll in her head. “And if you got the chance? Would you finish the job?” A kid. Lucifer had a kid? And who the hell was Beelzebub, how had Crowley managed to be sentenced to death, what did Lucy mean by holy water? Just… drowning? Chloe had long ago learned to pick out the parts of what her partner said that made some kind of sense, and file the rest away. This was a <em>lot </em>of weirdness, even for him.</p><p>Lucifer’s mouth opened. Shut. “Crowley did the right thing,” he finally answered. “I don’t want them dead. I haven’t in a while. I just don’t know what they’re <em>doing </em>here! They could hurt you, or Dan, or Linda, they could hurt <em>so many people </em>and there’s <em>nothing </em>I can do about it but keep them too terrified of me to try.”<br/>
              “And the case?”<br/>
Lucifer pursed his lips this time, taking a moment to reply. “Not their style, by the looks of it. Not that that eliminates them for sure. Crowley tends to use other things to kill people. Redirected carpet bombing. Holy water. Pit traps, if you go back a few centuries. They don’t seem to like just straight-up eating people, like I believe happened here. Still doesn’t make a perfectly innocent reason for Crowley being here.”<br/>
              “<em>Eating </em>people?! Ella said it was some kind of bug!”<br/>
              “I suppose that also points to someone other than Crawly,” Lucifer admitted. "They are a snake, after all. There wouldn’t even be bones if it were them, unless it was just a normal snake bite.”</p><p>She did not have time to unpack that sentence. Instead, Chloe moved on to the next most pressing question in her mind. “And you have a son?!”</p><p>              “I didn’t know! And by the time I showed up, well, it was all I could do to make sure he <em>didn’t </em>want me as his dad, I mean I barely even knew what was going on! I didn’t want to <em>succeed</em> in convincing him to restart a bloody war until I knew what war the reports were even <em>talking</em> about! But yes,” Lucifer relented, “I do <em>technically</em> have a son. His name is Adam, he lives in England, and I’ve only ever met him once and that was only long enough for him to utterly and fundamentally reject my role as his father, which was fair enough in the circumstances. Also knock me out of this body for about a year and a half.<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>” He paused. “I suppose Crowley was <em>there</em>, too,” came the reflection. “Against orders, as I recall. That part was also mentioned in the trial, that they’d tried to keep the War from coming about. Personally, I approve, but it was nonetheless a form of treason, hence the death sentence which they apparently somehow survived.”  </p><p>The detective took a deep breath. “Tell him. Or them, or whatever.” Chloe kept her eyes locked on his. “Tell Crowley you approve of whatever it is he did, and that you don’t intend to kill him, and I’ll let you drag him along on the case, since you seem so keen to keep an eye on him. But I don’t want him trying to escape the whole time, so you have to tell him. Deal?”</p><p>Lucifer hesitated. “Deal.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Lucifer sighed. He really would rather keep the intimidation factor going for as long as he could, for whatever safety it could grant, but… well, the Detective was watching. He opened his mouth. Crowley eyed it as if he were about to start spewing hellfire from the opening.</p><p>              “Crowley.” Lucifer spoke. “I’m not <em>actually</em> going to kill you unless you hurt someone.”</p><p>He could feel Chloe’s glare through the mirror. But no matter what, he wasn’t about to give a demon free rein in his city. “Honestly,” he smirked, doing his best to look nonchalant. “When have I ever been anything other than fair?”<br/>
              “Does half an aeon hanging partially dismembered in the Pits of Abaddon ring any bells?” the demon croaked. “It may have only been about a century on Earth, but it was more than long enough for me.”</p><p>Lucifer glowered. “You wrecked Eve’s <em>life. </em>Not to mention the whole Garden with it.<em>”</em></p><p>              “You told me to cause trouble!” came the plaintive answer. “I thought you were <em>tempting her, </em>you know, like we’d all agreed! And besides, look at them now!”<br/>
              “You killed the demons I sent to collect you that time, too. All three of them.”<br/>
              “I did <em>not!” </em>Crowley protested. “I just… arranged things, and they discorporated themselves!”</p><p>Lucifer’s stare was final. “The first murder.”</p><p>              “Oh, because Gabriel with that blessed and bloody sword, ripping Fallen souls in twain was just a <em>flesh wound</em>?!” Outrage seemed to have taken over from fear at this point, the demon hunched over the table, almost trembling with rage.<br/>
              “He was the enemy already,” The King of Hell whispered, and his face could have given solid stone a run for its money. “That isn’t murder, that’s just War.”<br/>
              “No,” Crowley’s voice wound down to a hiss. “We weren’t the <em>enemy </em>until the killing ssssstarted. We were misbehaving children on too ssssssmall a playground.<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a> Nobody ttthhought it would come down to a fight until it already had.” They jerked back when Lucifer opened his mouth. “Don’t you ssssstart making excussssses for what we did, Lord. Sssstationing me on Earth was just a ssssside bonusss, to get me out of the way of other demons, never mind that it put me right in the middle of the battlefield again.” They glared. “You ssssaid we’d take care of each other, and look how that turned out!”</p><p>“I gave you every body you requested.” The Lord of the Damned was an oasis of calm.</p><p>              “Yesssss,” Crowley spit, “sso I would be out of your hair while you planned the end of everything! You already tried to have me killed once for the whole mess, I refuse to believe you’re just going to sssssstand here now, just because you can’t get Beelz to do your dirty work!”</p><p>There was an intake of breath from across the table.</p><p>              “I wasn’t plotting anything,” Lucifer’s voice could have frozen the blood in his veins. “I didn’t even know what was going on until after that whole <em>thing</em> with the Antichrist. It was all Satan organizing it, and those <em>bloody</em> angels. And personally, I’m actually quite <em>glad</em> the world didn’t end! I <em>like</em> the world. Hell is a shithole in comparison to literally anywhere else, and I mean absolutely bloody awful, that’s the entire point of the place. So if anything, I would be giving you a commendation if it weren’t for the fact that you broke ranks with Hell to do it.”<br/>
<em>That </em>shut Crowley up. “A commendation,” they said, woodenly.</p><p> “Good job. Whatever you did, the world’s still here.” The King of Hell replied. “Now why are you?”</p><p>              “I was sentenced to death in your absence, <em>Lord.”</em> Crowley shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do, beg Heaven not to sssslaughter me while I present myself at their gates?”<br/>
              “I mean Los Angeles.”</p><p>              “I already told you,” the snake seemed to relax a little, back on familiar conversational ground.  “I’m on vacation. Taking a little time for myself after that whole flaming car wreck.” At Lucifer’s wince, the demon hesitated. “Look. I’m not planning to ruin L.A., just… enjoy it. Like a human would, you know? Drinking, sunlight, maybe some sex<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a>. Some minor temptations, if the opportunity presents itself, but nothing difficult or life-changing. I…” they shifted in their seat. They’d already sealed their doom, arguing with the King of Hell, might as well go for the big one, right? “I’d really rather stop working for Hell, if that’s alright with you? Officially?” they squeaked.</p><p>Lucifer blinked. On the one hand, if Crowley was telling the truth, there would be little harm, and the demon did seem altogether harmless upon personal meeting. On the other—well. Demons weren’t exactly known for their honesty. They might just be a very good liar.<br/>
              “Consider this a trial run, I suppose.” Lucifer pursed his lips. “If you behave yourself during this case, and are found to be not guilty, if you manage to convince me that you truly mean humanity no harm, I will… think about releasing you from my service.”</p><p>The demon was so obviously shocked at the proposal that Lucifer couldn’t help the grin from sprouting on his face.  “I said I’d <em>think</em> about it. That is no guarantee, you old snake.” The grin dropped. "And if I find out you’ve been lying to me, there will be no pit deep enough to hide you from my Wrath.”</p><p>Crowley’s held tilted sideways. Lucifer could <em>feel </em>the path of those yellow eyes, careful, analyzing—it felt as though every molecule of him was being examined in that gaze. The King of Hell tried not to fidget.<br/>
              “Alright,” the snake blinked, once, behind those shades. A nod. “Fair enough.”</p><p>Fair. Lucifer bit his lip. <em>Had </em>it been unfair, that punishment long ago? Maybe. He could barely remember that era, now, his memories blurred by War and Falling, fire and brimstone. Was it the same for Crowley? All he could recall, now, was fury—or was it Wrath again?—and grief, and helplessness in the face of… everything. God. Angels. The War, the inevitable downfall of the Garden. A sigh.<br/>
              “Wonderful!” Lucifer managed an artificial smile. “I want you tagging along on this case, where I can keep an eye on you.” His shoulders rolled in a languid stretch.<br/>
              “Detective?” he called. “We’re ready now.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale landed atop the pier. An easy miracle ensured that he would not be noticed as he folded in his wings.</p><p><em> Crowley. I have to find Crowley</em>. The trouble was, he didn’t just have to <em>find </em>Crowley. Aziraphale frowned. He also had to get them out from under the claws of the Lord of Darkness Himself, in such a way that they could not simply be summoned back. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have his bookshop here in the Americas! While he <em>could </em>fly back over the oceans on his own, doing so would be positively exhausting, not to mention leave Crowley in his Master’s clutches for at least another two days. Unacceptable.</p><p>Perhaps… Aziraphale did not so much bite his lip now as dig his teeth into it with the desperation of a wild dog. The Men of Letters bunker, in Indiana, would have the books he needed—but it was always a risk interacting with such militant humans as one of their members, and it was still a good hour’s flight away with him stuck in a corporation. Too far to teleport in corporeal form, too risky to guarantee success.<br/>
              <em>No</em>, he thought. <em>The simplest solution here will likely be the best. My first step should be to determine if Crowley is still incorporated at all</em>—the angel swallowed. After all, he was not here for the King of All Evil, he was here looking for <em>Crowley</em>, and if Crowley were in Hell…<br/>
Aziraphale forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. If Crowley were in Hell, then he would go to Hell and retrieve them. In a sense it would be simpler, even, for they would be under rather lesser supervision than they would here, and Crowley had overcome the direct torments of Hell before. Given sufficient time.<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a></p><p>Besides, he could feel Crowley’s presence, though this close by, it was nearly overwhelmed by the great and pounding aura that was the King of Hell. If they was still here—well, hopefully Crowley would be able to sneak off eventually, if only for a brief time. Maybe.</p><p>Aziraphale brushed the fallen powder-down from his waistcoat absentmindedly, his eyes worrying at the horizon. He hadn’t flown nearly often enough before they took this vacation, the thought intruded. His wing care was starting to slip again.<br/>
<em>Well</em>, he decided, <em>if Crowley is currently a prisoner, they will most likely be found near their jailor.<br/>
</em>The wings came out again. Wherever Lucifer was, there too would Crowley (probably) be. All he had to do was track them down.</p><p>The tricky part was what Aziraphale was supposed to do when he got there.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>              “Prince Beelzebub,” the voice on the telephone said.<br/>
              “Prince Michael.” The Lord of the Flies sneered down at zer old rotary telephone.<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a><br/>
              “How goes my agent?” Michael prompted, and that voice was bored monotony. “More importantly, how goes their mission?”</p><p>Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. “The mission goezzz well enough, Archangel, though I do not report to you.” The Prince of Hell did not ask why ze had been disturbed. “My Lord haz found the first set of bodies, though not yet the rest. He izz bound to notice the demonic aspect to their murderzz soon.”<br/>
              “He’d better,” Michael’s irritation could be heard even through this staticky, awful phone connection. “It would not do for Hell to run rampant and ungoverned even there in Gehenna, you know. It would be… inconvenient.”</p><p>Beelzebub did not reply.</p><p>              “Replacing you, too, would be inconvenient,” the Archangel rambled. “It is quite an asset, you realize, a Prince of Hell willing to aid the other side.”</p><p>The flies buzzed louder about their Lord, dipping frenetically around zer head. “I am loyal to my Lord and my people, <em>Michael,” </em>ze snapped. “It’zzz a pity you cannot say the same.” Beelzebub slammed the telephone back onto its receiver. Zer head sank into those grubby claws, smearing dirt from zer temple in the motion. “Bloody angels,” ze growled. “Stupid-bloody-useless-overly-pompous wanker of a bird.”</p><p>The door opened, and Beelzebub snapped to attention. “Dagon,” ze greeted.<br/>
              “My Prince.” Dagon bared her sharklike smile with a small bow. “We have caught those would-be rebels from the Fourth Circle. Have you a sentence?”<br/>
              “How many?” Beelzebub’s voice was turned breathy, betraying the sinking of zer stomach to any who would notice. Fortunately, while Dagon had an excellent mind for tactics, the General had never been much of one for emotional intelligence. The General’s patience was also renowned, great enough to handle even the most absurdly Hellish of paperwork and decipher the most cryptic, moldy, bug-eaten of handwriting, hence their status as Lord of the Files.<br/>
General Dagon grinned like a mouthful of needles. “Eight delicious, disobedient Lillim and forty-two Fallen, my Prince, plus a hundred and two assorted lesser demons who flung themselves to the ground and begged for mercy upon the arrival of your Legion.”</p><p>Beelzebub let out a slow sigh. “Not good.”<br/>
Dagon blinked. “We crushed them easily, my Prince. How does this not simply set the correct example for the rest of Hell?”</p><p>              “It iz a bad example that they managed to get this far!” Beelzebub snapped. “Kill the ones who did not yield. For the rest… you have my listzz,” ze buzzed. “Let any who actively helped you restore order go with a warning. Kill <em>any</em> Lillim that rebelled, az well azz the nobility. We cannot afford traitors with that sort of strength.”<br/>
Their General bowed again. “Your will be done.” Dagon’s brown eyes glanced up at zer, and their  expression was unreadable. “My Prince.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Admitting failure was not a good survival strategy in Hell. Therefore, Beelzebub had not reported the trial as failed, but rather as a success: they had captured the demon Crowley, had them stand trial before the masses of Hell, sentenced them to death by holy water and given them that terminal bath. The fact that it hadn’t actually seemed to stick was irrelevant.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> It hadn’t been a particularly awful discorporation, as discorporations go. Just… sudden. And confusing. A lot of things about the Antichrist had been confusing.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Honestly, where were those esses coming from? They just seemed to keep going, as though Crowley didn’t even have control over his own tongue!</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> Probably not, though. While Crowley was perfectly capable of engaging in such… activities, and certainly had before, he had never been a fan of <em>sticky. </em></p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Aziraphale refused to even <em>entertain </em>the thought that Crowley might have been wiped from existence entirely.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> The contemptuous sneer was on page seven of Hell’s handbook for interacting with angels.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. But there's no end-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoops I forgot to post this yesterday! Oh well. Have a slightly late chapter?<br/>No particular content warnings needed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time they reached the scene of the crime, there was one <em>burning </em>question on Chloe’s lips.  “Crowley—” she asked, eyeing that strange and swaying walk, “have you ever been to a chiropractor?”</p><p>Lucifer let out a bark of laughter.<br/>              “Uh…” Crowley seemed to be more confused at that than anything else, strolling along with that ridiculous <em>saunter</em>. “No? I mean I’m perfectly capable of fixing anything that goes wrong in my body by myself, I don’t see why I would.”<br/>              “It’s the way you <em>walk, </em>you old snake,” Lucifer practically <em>chortled. </em>Chortled! It was a good look on him, that mischievous laughter, and one she didn’t see very often. “Downstairs, it doesn’t really stand out, but here—”<br/>              “I’m sorry,” Chloe couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you walk like, I don’t know, like a snake that unexpectedly found itself with extra limbs one day. I don’t even understand how you’re doing that!”<br/>              “Hah,” Crowley’s laugh was thoroughly unconvincing, for some reason. “Imagine that.”<br/>Chloe sighed.</p><p>Back to awkward silence again. The ride to the crime scene had already been ridiculously awkward, Crowley pressed to the window the entire time as if he hoped he could just phase right through the door and away from Lucifer if he tried hard enough. He seemed to have calmed down a <em>bit </em>now that they’d left the car, but he was clearly still… far from comfortable.<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> Trying to make conversation had been a massive pain. “Here we are,” she opened the door. “Both residents died, so we have pretty much unlimited access to the house for now, but still, don’t touch anything.”</p><p>Crowley paused on the threshold. “I don’t suppose I could stay out here?” His hands burrowed into that stylish jacket like a couple of moles hiding from the sun.<br/>She could see Lucifer roll his eyes. “Get your skinny arse in here, Crowley. You’re a <em>demon, </em>for Dad’s sake, it’s not like horrific corpses are anything <em>new</em>. Besides, the body isn’t even here anymore.”</p><p>              Slowly, the man sidled into the room. He kept to the walls, shoulders hunched, as if trying to keep as much distance between himself and the scene as possible, with an effect like a cartoon spy trying to sneak around in plain sight. Or maybe the Pink Panther, if the Pink Panther were also extremely goth.<br/>              “Do you recognize anything?” Chloe prompted.<br/>It took a moment. Crowley opened his mouth a little, <em>licked </em>the air. Made a face. “It <em>stinks</em> of brimstone in here,” he sneezed, once. “How did you two not catch that?”<br/>              “Believe it or not,” Chloe said dryly, “I don’t actually know what brimstone smells like.”<br/>              “I suppose I’ve become rather immune to it over the millennia,” Lucifer smiled for half a second. The expression did not reach his eyes.<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a> “What else? Snakes are supposed to have a decent sense of smell, can you tell us anything more?”<br/>That tongue flicked out again. Was it actually <em>forked? </em>How on Earth did that happen?!</p><p>Crowley twitched.</p><p>              “Well that can’t be right,” they muttered. “I think… I think there’s a hint of that horrible disinfectant shit they use Upstairs these days.” They’d learned to identify it long ago, when Aziraphale started to always reek of the stuff after coming back from Heaven. It masked the holiness, a bit, but—well, Crowley would rather deal with the somewhat overwhelming feeling of <em>holy </em>than this cold, impersonal stench. Supposedly, Aziraphale had always claimed, it was meant to encourage unity in the ranks by smoothing out the differences in their auras. “And dust,” Crowley sneezed again. “Smells very dusty.”</p><p>Chloe sniffed. The burning sulphur she could detect now that she knew what it was, but the rest? Disinfectant, dust? “You’re sure?”</p><p>              “Am I—” Another sneeze. “No, not at all! Why would Hea—Upstairs be involved in this? Either it’s some demon misbehaving, or it’s another plot, internal politics only.” Crowley pulled a handkerchief from a pocket she thought was empty, and pressed it to their face. “Look, I’m ah, mildly allergic to this disinfectant shit.<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a> Mildly in this sort of dose, at least.” They glanced at Lucifer, and continued. “Can I just, can I step outside? This really isn’t good for me, I mean I don’t <em>have </em>to breathe, but it’s already in my lungs now.”<br/>The detective almost glossed over that comment. <em>Doesn’t have to breathe, </em>she thought. <em>Yeah, right.</em></p><p>              “Then why aren’t I being affected, Crowley?” Lucifer’s voice was mild. “It should be just as deadly to me as it is to you.”<br/>A sigh, followed by a nasty burst of coughing. The suspect straightened those shades on their face as they stood back up. “Yes, Lord. But like you said, I’m the one with a sensitive sense of smell. That goes both ways.”<br/>Lucifer was clearly torn. After a long moment, he agreed. “Alright. But stay close. I don’t want you out of my range, understand? And if you’re not back within ten minutes, I’m hauling you back in with me, coughing your lungs out or no.”<br/>              “Lucifer!” Chloe scolded.<br/>              “Thank you, Lord!” <br/>Crowley launched themself out the door. They leaned against the side of the house, sliding to their knees, heedless of the dirt. Heaved in a breath of blessedly mortal air, all good and bad and living in one.</p><p>Sniffled.</p><p><em>              Aziraphale, </em>Crowley thought despairingly. <em>Aziraphale, where are you? </em>God, why did that awful stench have to remind them of Aziraphale so much? They weren’t sure whether they’d rather the angel be here and looking for them or back in England, safe and sound. Away from Him. Away from all this mess. Their hand found its way up beneath their shades, wiped wetness from their eyes.<br/>Crowley stared at the shimmer of water on their fingertips.</p><p>Why were they shaking so much?</p><p>Crowley didn’t notice their body curling in on itself, their head tucking itself between trembling arms until the sob tore its way out of their throat.<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a><br/>They froze. After a moment of tense listening, Crowley pulled power from the earth once, twice, until they finally managed to miracle a barrier of silence around themself. Alone in the garden, Crowley cried.</p><p> </p><p>There was a whisper. “…Crowley?”</p><p>              The demon jerked to attention, their head banging on the outside of the wall. They still couldn’t feel their angel, but—maybe that was because of the proximity to Lucifer, a blinding reek of brimstone vast enough to drown in. A hand touched their shoulder, gentler than any they’d ever felt in Hell.<br/>              “Crowley, my dear, it’s me.”<br/>              “Aziraphale.” Crowley looked up. They melted. “Aziraphale,” they murmured, “Aziraphale, you came back for me, you—”<br/>              “Of course I did!” The angel beamed. “You’re <em>mine.” </em>The smile turned anxious. “Well, I suppose that in a more immediate sense, you’re His right now, but generally, you know. You’re <em>my </em>Crowley. And I am <em>so </em>very glad to see you alive and—you are well, aren’t you? More or less? I haven’t sensed any particular injuries, but—”<br/>              “No, I’m, I’m alright,” they stuttered. “Now that you’re here.” Crowley’s hands ran up their angel’s arms, clasped them in a desperate hug. “Now you’re here.”</p><p>~~~</p><p>The door creaked open.<br/>Lucifer leaned on the doorway. “Crowley,” he called. “Your ten minutes are up!”<br/>He heard a little gasp. Was that—there they were, curled up into the wall, stroking a… magpie? Those were supposed to be European birds, weren’t they? What was a magpie doing in LA? Lucifer set his questions aside for the moment. “Have you been <em>crying?” </em>he scoffed. “You’re a demon. Crying over a whiff of holy disinfectant?”<br/>Crowley sniffed. Their eyes shone red when they looked up at their Lord, their shaky hands shielding the plump little bird. “No, Lord,” they managed. “No, I just, I just…” the demon’s voice trailed off into the distance. “Yeah,” the bird fluttered up to their shoulder, preening through Crowley’s dark red hair. “It’s the disinfectant.”</p><p>Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Alright then. Back inside. Snake.”</p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p><em>It is infinitely strange, </em>Aziraphale thought, <em>to be a bird. </em>He did not shapeshift, ordinarily. Could not, on his own, except into his own aspects, and even then only by way of his true form and rather a lot of effort. Crowley, on the other hand, apparently had plenty of experience.</p><p>It was Crowley who had noticed the King of Hell approaching.<br/>              They who’d hissed in agony at being parted. It had been half a thought, regret before Aziraphale miracled himself away, and then—a flicker of a question in Crowley’s fingers. Aziraphale sent a wave of love and trust in return, and within a fraction of a second—the world was shifting around him. That utterly familiar aura wrapped about him, held him, <em>teased </em>his corporation into a new shape altogether with a heat like standing just a little too close to the sun until he stood again, engulfed in Crowley’s beautiful hands.<br/><em>              My dear, </em>he thought. <em>What—</em></p><p> The King of Hell strode out the door. He nearly blinded Aziraphale, in this tiny shape, radiating Hellish light for meters in all directions. His eyes were so much <em>sharper </em>like this, and it had been an awfully long time since he’d been able to see the UV spectrum while incorporated.<br/><em>              Oh, I see. Terribly clever of you, my dear—I had no idea you could do such a thing! </em>Aziraphale stretched his wings, and those at least had stayed the same as normal, if proportionately smaller.<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a> Experimentally, he hopped around a bit, then launched himself upward and onto the demon’s shoulder, not quite managing to stick the landing. A gentle finger loomed over him, stroked its delicate way down his back. Aziraphale buried his beak in his beloved’s hair.</p><p>He caught a rush of muffled feeling from the demon, quiet as a breath. What was it, pride? Amusement? Support? Love, obviously, but around Crowley, that never left. Anxiety. He whisked a tiny bit of dirt out of Crowley’s hair. Fear, but that was beaten down to the bottom of the pile, not directed at him. Aziraphale sent a nugget of love and affirmation back at them.<br/><em>              I am perfectly alright, dear, </em>he thought. <em>At least now I can be with you for a while longer. I certainly can’t feel </em>your<em> presence when you’re in snake form, if you stay small and decide to mask it. It seems that he can’t currently sense mine, either. Frankly, I am glad for the chance at subterfuge.<br/></em> Crowley would not be able to understand the <em>words</em> of his thoughts, of course, they were no mind readers. But emotions? Emotions effect the aura, and as a pair of celestial beings who had known each other for over six thousand years, they’d gotten pretty good at reading each other. Especially when they were close enough to read auras this easily, before being out in the world muddled everything.</p><p>              “Are you going to haul that thing around with you everywhere?” Lucifer’s drawl rang between them. It felt so low to him now, that voice rumbled through his <em>bones. </em><br/>              “What, the bird?” Crowley clambered to their feet, a minor miracle whisking the tear tracks from their face. The angel clung to their shoulder and hair for dear life—there was so much <em>rocking. </em>“I think it likes me. They do that, sometimes,” they rambled on, though Aziraphale could hear a note of tension in that softly hissing voice, “it’ll leave eventually on its own. I don’t mind.”<br/>              “Of course not, it’ll make a lovely snack later, won’t it?”<br/>Crowley shrugged. “If it stays too long.”<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a></p><p>Now, Aziraphale had not known the King of the Damned for very long. But he <em>was </em>standing right in the middle of his aura, even if being this close to Crowley blocked much of it out. And he had always had a bit of a gift for empathy, more than usual for an angel. As such, Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure—was that a hint of <em>regret, </em>over the thought of killing a bird? Well. What he must think was a bird, in any case. But either way, that was… not what he would have expected from the Devil.<br/>Aziraphale kept quiet atop his swaying perch.</p><p><br/>~~~</p><p>It wouldn’t be enough to just kill some random humans.</p><p>Hastur knew the symptoms of a demon who’s been on Earth too long, and the Lord of Hell showed all of them. Being overly careful with His corporation, grooming it like a human’s even when he was Downstairs. Spending time with specific groups of humans, outside the requirements of his job. <em>Style, </em>of course, as blatantly unnecessary and pointless as it was, and enjoying that stupid blessed noise the humans called music, and which was just similar enough to angelic choirs to fill the Fallen with spite. No, killing random humans would never be enough.<br/>              He would have to be specific.</p><p>Prince Beelzebub, of course, hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. Why would ze? It was Hastur’s assignment, right? He could take the initiative, and when he succeeded, maybe he could finally request some vacation time to go after bloody Crowley again<a href="#_ftn7" id="_ftnref7" name="_ftnref7">[7]</a>. But if the goal was to convince the Lord that He needed to come back to Hell, that was never gonna happen unless being on Earth stopped making Him happy. Ergo, Hastur had to get rid of the Lord’s specific humans, before it was too late. Like it had been for Crowley.<br/>He glowered. The grass beneath his gaze wilted, and began to smoke.</p><p>              “Foul fiend.” The angel appeared in a beam of light which echoed strangely on the blue whorls of their skin.</p><p>When Hastur glanced up, his glare was just as immovable as ever.<a href="#_ftn8" id="_ftnref8" name="_ftnref8">[8]</a> “Diriel,” came the half-growled greeting. <em>Let’s hurry up with this one, </em>the demon thought to himself. <em>I want to get on with the real work already.</em></p><p> </p><p>The humans died screaming.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Escape routes were important, okay? But when you’re locked in a moving car within reach of the Devil, there really aren’t a lot of options.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> He didn’t care <em>what </em>Dagon always said about the smell of brimstone in the morning, Lucifer had always found it disgusting. Not to mention the stench of all those millions of demons and unwashed, tortured souls, packed into a space that was, by design, never quite big enough for them all.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> It was holy, after all. Nasty stuff.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> That was certainly a benefit to human form, Crowley thought absently. Crying. Snakes didn’t even have tear ducts, but there were few actions more therapeutic than a good cry.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> And he felt so <em>small, </em>cupped here in Crowley’s hands, only barely too big to be shielded by them completely.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> He had, on occasion, been known to swallow entire birds. Small ones, typically, songbirds and the occasional pigeon—Crowley miiight have been responsible for eating one of the last passenger pigeons in existence, not that they knew it at the time. Also a duck, once. An extremely angry duck. He and that particular duck did not get along.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> This was not about Ligur. Why would it be about Ligur? Nobody said anything about Ligur, not even to Hastur, even if they <em>had </em>been working together since the Fall.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref8" id="_ftn8" name="_ftn8">[8]</a> It did not do to show off one’s future plans to a foe. Or even to an ally, really.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. -to love,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ugh midterm essays are kicking my butt</p><p>Content warnings: creepy, somewhat violent magic and some nonsexual but only dubiously consensual touching-- see the end notes for a synopsis</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley still had a bird on their shoulder when they got back to the precinct.</p><p>Chloe kept <em>trying </em>not to look at it, given the glare the man had thrown her when she stared a little too long. But still. Bird. On his shoulder, or sitting on his head, occasionally running a beak through his hair. It was weird, right? But nobody else in the precinct seemed to have noticed, so far, even though the little thing was just sitting there in plain sight! Was it just her? Lucifer certainly seemed not to care, though he, at least, acknowledged its existence. When she mentioned the bird to Dan in a whispered conversation, he acted like he had no idea what he was talking about!<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a></p><p>               “Oh! Chloe! There you are!”<br/>Chloe jumped. Ella bounded out of her office, skidding to a halt in front of the desk. “Chloe, you know the first vic?”<br/>              “Yes?” This was the ugly one, the one whose photo she had shown to Crowley.<br/>Ella took a moment to stare at Crowley before answering. “Um,” she shook herself. “So, you know the first victim was eaten by bugs, right? And he was just kinda sitting at the table with his breakfast when you found him? Well I found something even weirder: he wasn’t set at the table after the fact. He was already there with his bowl of cereal when he died, which seriously? How could he have not <em>noticed </em>the bugs? Why didn’t he go for help?”<br/>              “Was he already dead when the bugs got there?” Chloe’s mind raced. Why wouldn’t the call have gone through? It was the middle of LA! “Is there any way to tell?”<br/>              “Yes, there is, and no, he was still alive.” Ella answered. She turned to look at Crowley. “Uh, why do you have a bird on your head?”</p><p>Crowley stared. It was a good several seconds before he managed to answer. “Wh-what bird?” The magpie peered down at her from between ginger curls. His hand started to move—<br/>              “<em>Behave yourself</em>, Crowley.” Lucifer’s tone was more than a little menacing.<br/>The man flinched. “Yes, right, okay. I figured it would be less fuss, is all. Sorry, Lord.” He made a little movement like he was drawing something off of her, and flicking it away. “Um. That bird,” he stammered, “right.”</p><p>Ella’s gaze flicked between the two of them, uncertainty painfully obvious in her face. “O-kay then? I mean, uh, it’s a very nice bird, I guess.” A tentative smile. “I’m Ella. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, uh…”<br/>  “Crowley,” he held out a hand. “Don’t worry, not a suspect anymore, or at least I hope not. Just helping with the investigation.”<br/>Ella grinned, and ignored the hand completely, instead launching herself into a hug. “Good to meet you!”</p><p>Chloe smothered a laugh at the way Crowley flinched away from the contact, obviously taken by surprise. After a moment, he relaxed into it. The magpie chittered like a high-pitched giggle, and eventually Ella released him.<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a><br/>              “Are you a friend of Lucifer’s?” she asked.<br/>              “Not, uh, not exactly,” he stuttered. “He’s just keeping an eye on me for a while. Making sure I don’t get in the way.” Crowley did at least seem a little calmer, now, in the precinct. Certainly better than that interminable car ride. But why was he still staring at Ella? And then Crowley shook himself like a full body shudder, and wrenched his gaze away as if nothing happened.</p><p>It was Lucifer who brought the conversation back around to the case, for once. “I don’t suppose you happen to know what <em>kind </em>of bugs were involved? That could easily help us to identify the culprit.”<br/>              “Right!” Ella grinned. “I can’t be <em>positive </em>until the rest of the tests get back in a week, but I <em>think </em>it was a bunch of moths. But it would have had to be a <em>lot </em>of moths, I mean they don’t actually eat that much? And when I say moths, really I mean moth <em>larvae, </em>of course, because moths just eat nectar, they don’t actually really have mouths. But even then, moth larvae aren’t really known for eating meat, so, uh… That’s still confusing. But I don’t really know what else it could be? Looking at the bite shape?”<br/>Crowley and his possibly-brother exchanged a glance. Even the bird looked thoughtful, nestled into that red hair.  <br/>              “You know,” Lucifer said slowly, “I don’t recall <em>moths </em>being a common demonic aspect.”<br/>              “Definitely not one of mine,” Crowley put in. “Or Hastur’s, for that matter.” Chloe watched her partner’s face flicker through a dozen different emotions before he finally seemed to come to a conclusion.</p><p> </p><p> “Crowley?” Lucifer asked, though it really did sound like an order already. “I’ve got a mission for you.”</p><p>The redhead’s eyes widened in alarm. “I don’t—”</p><p>              “If you succeed, that will be a mark in your favor. You can’t prove your trustworthiness if you never leave my sight, honestly.” Lucifer glared, but his hands trembled behind his back.<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a> “Go Downstairs, and get a list from whoever seems most competent of everyone with moth aspects, or who could otherwise accomplish this. You have until dawn tomorrow,” he murmured, “at which point you will meet me back at Lux. Fail to complete your assignment and return to me promptly, and… well.” The smile which followed was not the slightest bit kind. It gave Chloe the chills, even if it wasn’t directed at her. Dread squirmed in her stomach. Even the bird seemed affected, tucking its head nervously under one wing. This could not possibly end well.</p><p>Crowley, for his part, had taken a seemingly unconscious step back against the wall, struggling to make his voice work. “Yes, L—I mean, understood!” he eked out. After a moment, he summoned his courage enough to ask a question. “But, uh, I am wanted dead back there. I mean I’m sure I can figure something out,” he babbled, “but I would really appreciate it if you could keep them from, y’know, actively <em>trying </em>to wipe me out of existence while I’m there on your behalf?” he squeaked. “Please?”</p><p>              <em>Wanted. Dead?</em> Chloe’s eyebrows shot upward. She hadn’t known that part. Where was this “downstairs” anyway? Just… somewhere south of LA? Somewhere underground?</p><p>Lucifer blinked. “Oh, right. I suppose that would be detrimental to your actually getting the job done. Of course, if you aren’t back by dawn, it’ll make it that much easier to drag you right back to me—a good idea all around, I suppose. Come here.”<br/>Crowley obeyed, jumpy caution in every move. He flinched away from Lucifer’s fingers on his chin, but those hands advanced anyway, and after a moment, Crowley stilled. Even Chloe could see Crowley was <em>trying </em>to cooperate. Lucifer traced the tattoo of a black snake on his temple, his touch unsettlingly gentle for the man who’d put so much effort into terrifying the poor guy, and then—Crowley tried to jerk backward.<br/><em>              Tried </em>was clearly the operative word here.<br/>Crowley didn't even gain an inch before he started to fall over, and reached out reflexively to grasp at Lucifer's arms. Pale smoke rose from where Lucifer's fingers met his face, reeking of that same sulphur stench as the crime scene. And his face... it made Chloe queasy to look at. She didn't know <em>what </em>was going on here, that much was clear, because Crowley's expression was... God, she had no clue how to interpret it. Pain? Panic? Devotion? Crowley twitched. His mouth clenched closed around a horrible whine, and just as Chloe broke free of the shock enough to move, Lucifer let go.</p><p>Crowley shot backward in an instant.</p><p>              “Lucifer!” Chloe shouted. “What the hell?! You can’t just <em>hurt </em>him like that!”<br/>Ella leapt into motion, springing to Crowley’s side where he had slithered down the wall to the floor like so many broken toys, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The man let her putter, though he still winced away from any touch. Ella was rather more concerned by the brand new patches of blistering skin on his face than anything else.</p><p>              “They <em>asked </em>me to.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I can’t do anything about it hurting, Crowley’s just a bit of a wimp.<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a>” He shook out that hand which had grasped his possibly-brother. When Chloe’s eyes fell on it, she froze.<br/>              “Did you just…” burn your <em>own </em>fingers until they blistered, she didn’t ask. “your hand!” <br/>              “It’s nothing.”<br/>              “You—” Chloe’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. <em>What the </em>fuck <em>was that?! </em></p><p>“I’m fine.” Crowley interrupted.</p><p>At least their breathing was finally back under control, even if they still trembled so much she could see it from here. They batted Ella’s hands away and struggled to their feet on shaking legs, leaving the bird to burrow in their hair and cling for dear life. “Honestly,” they shrugged, seeming inexplicably calm about the brand-new burns on their face, though their voice still shook. “Don’t give him a hard time about it, please. Lucifer’s right. It wouldn’t work if it wasn’t—if it didn’t hurt to do. That’s… pretty much what I asked for,” Crowley rubbed at the back of their neck. <em>Rather more than I asked for, actually. An official pardon, and not just a leash marked “delay of execution”?<br/></em>They bowed. The gesture still looked awkward in the middle of the precinct, but the exhausted gratitude in their voice could not be anything but genuine. “Thank you, Lord. I’ll be off, then, I guess?”</p><p>Lucifer nodded stiffly. “Don’t disappoint me.”</p><p>              “I’ll do my best.”</p><p> </p><p>And so Crowley trotted off through the hallways of the precinct and out the door, moving about as fast as their feet could carry them without breaking into an outright run. When they were finally out of range, they stopped and leaned their back against the side of the building.<br/>              “… perfect,” Crowley sighed. “Have I ever mentioned just how much I <em>loathe </em>Hell?”<br/>              Aziraphale cheeped in their ear.</p><p>              “You should be able to turn yourself <em>back</em> on your own, even if you never got the hang of shapeshifting,” the demon frowned. “It’s <em>your</em> corporation, and you’re going to your own normal shape. Just concentrate on… concentrate on feeling your usual corporation about you, right? And do the miracle thing, of course, like you normally would, like you <em>know </em>you’ve already got your normal corporation back.”<br/>Aziraphale hopped off, fluttering to the ground. They stayed a bird for a few seconds, and then their body was unfolding up, and up, and up—“Ah,” he let out a pleased breath. “I didn’t even know you could do that! Quite an ingenious solution, dear, and I’m glad to get to stay with you, for whatever good it does.”<br/>Crowley smiled sheepishly. “Oh good. There wasn’t exactly time to ask—”</p><p>              “Well don’t fret yourself,” the angel gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You did the right thing.” He hesitated. “I… take it you don’t want me coming along with you to Hell?”<br/>Crowley’s expression went grim. “Your aura will be much more noticeable there, even in bird form. Or rather, in your normal corporation or none at all, it will be noticeable. In bird form, you’ll just look like a snack. And not in a good way.<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a>”<br/>Aziraphale bit his lip, but agreed. “I won’t come with you, then, unless one of us has a better idea. But I have to ask: What <em>was </em>that that He did to you, just now? I smelled hellfire, and I <em>know </em>it hurt! You really <em>asked </em>for that?”</p><p>              “He pardoned me.” Crowley’s face above those folded arms was uncertain. “I mean it is, in fact, also an extra leash branded into my soul so he can tug me about a little easier and all that sort of thing, but it’s primarily a pardon. You know. So nobody Downstairs decides to have another go at an execution without his permission.”<br/>              “<em>Oh.” </em>They could see the gears turning, see Aziraphale come to the same realization they had. “Wait, a permanent pardon?! For <em>stopping Armageddon?</em> But… why?”<br/>              “Yeah,” they sighed. “I’m as confused as you are. But look, love, the best way to exonerate me here will probably be to help with the case as a whole. I don’t really know what to do. Think I’ll start with following orders and see where that gets me. Just <em>please </em>don’t get too close to Lucifer, I don’t want you to get smote.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, my dear. I don’t know that you need to worry about that. You go on your mission, and come back in due time. I’ll search the city for any traces of the demonic or divine that aren’t already accounted for, alright? And if I find anything, I’ll tell you, and you can make sure one of these detectives notices.”</p><p>Crowley practically melted with relief. “Right,” they stuttered. “Thank you.”<br/>And then the angel’s arms were soft and warm around them, and sunlight bloomed sweetly on their forehead. A blessing.<br/>              “Good luck, Crowley.”<br/>The ancient demon’s grin wobbled only a little bit. “You too,” they spoke, and laid a curse with uncommon gentleness upon their counterpart in return. “See you soon.<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a>”</p><p> </p><p>They turned into a tiny black adder, tasted the air, and slithered off to the nearest entry to Hell.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. He’d hoped for a bit longer with the love of his immortal life before Crowley had to run off with another task, but Lucifer <em>had </em>specified a time limit. He shivered. <em>That </em>would certainly take some getting used to, the way the detective simply referred to him by <em>name, </em>but Aziraphale couldn’t very well in good conscience call him “Lord”. He <em>was </em>still an angel, after all. Instead he cast a final look around, cast a quick miracle to keep from being noticed, and leapt back into flight on his own four wings.</p><p>Aziraphale did not notice the infinity-blue eyes in an uncomfortably tall and entirely nonphysical presence which slipped from the building to watch.<br/>This may have been simply because Aziraphale was  no longer used to seeing Celestials without corporations on the physical plane, but perhaps not. It certainly didn’t help that the Celestial in question had recently<a href="#_ftn7" id="_ftnref7" name="_ftnref7">[7]</a> taken up what was meant to be a less intimidating guise, to the humans: that of a rather short, stubby woman in a bob. The shape rather confused her-their-its metaphysical presence to those who could see both. But probably the greater obstacle was that the Celestial in question was Death; and even her siblings largely preferred to ignore her when they were not actively being discorporated. Azrael wasn’t exactly good company at parties. She had long since gotten used to blending in.</p><p>HUH, Azrael noted, and not a single soul heard. I THOUGHT THEY WERE TRYING TO STAY OUT OF THINGS.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Hastur had chosen his next target.</p><p>It had been tough going there, for a bit. He may be Hell’s best lurker, but it was still mighty difficult to lurk without being seen by the Lord Below Himself. And then Crowley’d shown up, of course, with that <em>bloody </em>angel on their shoulder, and what was <em>Crowley </em>doing here?! Tempting the Lord Lucifer to Earth? Obviously they must be succeeding, if they’d managed to scrape a <em>pardon </em>together, burning sullen in their aura so loudly Hastur was amazed the angel couldn’t feel it. But then Crowley and their angel left, and shortly after—<br/>There.<br/>A human that positively <em>stank </em>of Him. White, male, with brown hair and a brown jacket, confident enough to go in dark places all alone, he would be an easy target.</p><p>A drop of oil fled from Hastur’s rotting grin and down his chin. Yes, this would be the first to go. He didn't even need a miracle to shadow the human unnoticed to his car.</p><p>Hastur did find himself having to take flight in order to keep up with the car, though. Blasted contraptions. He positively <em>loathed </em>not having control over his own movements. That was alright anyways, because the demon did have millennia of practice at hiding his wings from the humans when necessary, even if he hadn’t spent quite as much of that time on Earth as Crowley had. Ligur had always been better at that part, to be honest. Hastur still had the unfortunate habit of letting his nature show through a little more than it should, whenever he wasn’t paying attention, and he knew perfectly well he still didn’t have the hang of eyes any more than Crowley did.</p><p>And then the human was turning down an alley, his head shifting surreptitiously from side to side. There must be something secret there, or better yet, forbidden. Yes, he would be an easy target.<br/>Hastur landed, folded dark, slime-green wings back into nonexistence. He slipped in behind the human and— <em>what the Heaven is this place supposed to be?!</em></p><p>It was a dark room, like many of those Hastur had seen before, its bare concrete floor lined with metal chairs of a type that often made an appearance Downstairs. Uncomfortable things. Crawly had claimed credit for that, too. But up at the front of this one stood a sort of raised black dais, with a blinding light and a handful of humans on top of it. The light set off an ache in Hastur’s eyes. He made it dead.<br/>That may have been the wrong decision, because the humans froze. And then—</p><p>              “I thought you just finished changing that lightbulb!”<br/>An uproarious laugh shook the darkness. It wasn’t even that funny, and Hastur suppressed the urge to growl. But thankfully, the show continued, for a <em>show </em>it apparently was. The humans had always done this, from what he could tell, told these stories to each other for sheer amusement, and it irritated Hastur to no end. They got away with all these <em>lies </em>and <em>questions </em>without any kind of punishment at all! But now it worked to <em>his </em>advantage, annoying though it was, and let him lurk by the door to wait for his Lord’s human to isolate himself. There were many humans here for now, but Hastur was old, and he was patient.</p><p>He could wait.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> A wild thought wondered if everyone in the precinct was just pretending not to notice. Certainly that would be more likely, right? Than everyone but herself, Lucifer, and Crowley not being able to see it?</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Aziraphale, for his part, found Crowley’s surprise more endearing than anything else. He’d been trying for <em>centuries </em>to make Crowley a little less skittish. Besides, the demon’s anxiety eased a bit when he sent out a little wave of reassurance. This Ella really did mean well. He could see the overpowering love in her aura even in this tiny form.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> The Devil’s internal monologue, at this point, went something like this: <em>oh bloody hell fucking heaven please for fuck’s sake, please don’t kill anyone, especially not anyone I lo—anyone I’ve claimed as my own, </em>please <em>let Chloe be right about you— </em></p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> This was why Crowley didn’t like Hell. Hell was full of pain, for everyone involved, always. Crowley was not a fan of pain.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> This was not to say that Hell had no demons who took the form of birds. There weren’t very many of them, certainly, as most birds had kinder connotations, but—some. They mostly tried not to look like birds.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> A demon’s curse and an angel’s blessing served pretty much the same purpose. Where an angel’s blessing encourages people to aid its subject, a demon’s curse—or blight, as it is often called—punishes those that do its subject wrong. There have been many arguments as to which is the more effective.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> “Recently” to an immortal being from the dawn of time, that is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW synopsis:<br/>Both points are from some Hell magic Lucifer casts on Crowley that has the side affect of lightly burning both participants. Crowley does ask explicitly for a spell to be cast and agree to this one in particular, but they don't discuss it much and Crowley is generally still very jumpy, full of complicated feelings, and does not like pain or Hell magic. </p><p>If you want a summary of the chapter or a version with that spell censored out, let me know! This isn't a subject that'll feature a whole lot in this story, so I'm happy to take a couple minutes to type something up if anyone wants. :)</p><p>Hope you're all staying as safe as you can out there!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. nor single start,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Eeeeyyy we're on to my favorite chapter so far! Kinda long though, sorry. No content warnings needed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were certainly a lot of Celestials in the City of Angels.<br/>Aziraphale had counted half a dozen already, not including himself and Crowley. A few were easy to identify—Lucifer, and Amenadiel the Eldest, and of course Azrael’s omnipresent self. The others were a lot more vague: there was at least one fallen angel in the city, as well as the oldest Lilum Aziraphale had felt since the Garden was broken. And he was <em>fairly </em>certain he’d picked up on another angel in the city as well, though he had no idea who. Not to mention the other, younger presence which tingled with something Aziraphale hadn’t felt in millennia, and wasn’t even sure he recognized correctly—in any case, he hoped he hadn’t. If there was a Nephilim in Los Angeles—well. The less said, the better.<br/>In any case, that was too many Celestials to be able to clearly pinpoint a suspect.</p><p>His best bet, Aziraphale decided, would probably be to check in with the Eldest, whose most frequent location seemed eerily near the possibly-Nephilim. And if Amenadiel tried to smite him—well, Aziraphale would just have to cope. A little shard of something hardened at the thought. He had loved Heaven, once upon a time, Heaven and all his fellow angels.</p><p>And Amenadiel, once upon a time, had been the kindest commander a Cherub could hope for, if a little absentminded. And then after the War, of course, Aziraphale had no longer really been considered a <em>Cherub</em>. He’d borne the demotion with a stilted dignity which he would not recognize for several millennia as an example of the British <em>stiff upper lip. </em>Pretty soon, it had stopped being a demotion to him—he hadn’t Fallen, after all, even after the way he embarrassed his unit during the War. And there was that whole mess with the Garden, and its four guardians were officially demoted <em>again</em> for their failure and cast down to Earth with their charges, and no-one ever said a word. If She wanted Aziraphale to be a Principality, a Principality he would be—and besides, Aziraphale had to admit he enjoyed his duties on Earth far more than he’d ever enjoyed being a Cherub, even if his true form had to stay hidden so as not to blind the humans. It wasn’t as if that was any different than in Heaven, anyway.</p><p>Aziraphale winched in his wings in a smooth, military motion and dove downward, his eyes closed against the wind to feel his angel-sense more clearly. A mere four or five meters above the highest rooftops, he snapped his wings out again.<br/><em>              There.<br/>I thought so! </em>He frowned. <em>What on Earth is the Eldest doing with… with what I sorely hope is </em>not <em>a Nephil?! And they positively </em>stink <em>of that Lilum, too. Fortunately for me, I don’t think it’s in the area right now. </em></p><p>When he followed that familiar aura to the source, Aziraphale found himself above a small, but well-loved house. <em>Linda Martin, </em>the mailbox said. <em>Hmm</em>. He landed easily, an absentminded miracle wiping himself from the memories of any passerby. What could the Eldest be doing in a human home, anyway?</p><p>He knocked.<br/><em>              Oh, dear. </em>Aziraphale wrung his hands, standing awkwardly in the doorway. <em>And what do I do if the human answers the door? Or what if the Eldest is here for, for a reason, if he’s on assignment? Does he even remember me? What should I say—oh, this was a terrible idea. </em></p><p>The door opened.</p><p>              “Hello? Who is it?”<br/>Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. He should have hoped for the human.<br/>“I, um, erm,” those perfectly manicured hands fiddled with his ring, trembling slightly out of what Aziraphale <em>refused </em>to acknowledge as nervousness. He glanced up. “Hello, Eldest.”</p><p>The corporation of Amenadiel the Eldest suited him perfectly.<br/>He was large, and muscular, with skin as brown as the river mud he’d played and trained in long ago with Aziraphale’s unit, before the humans were even a twinkle in the Almighty’s eye. His eyes were striking, not so much in their color as in their kindness—that kindness shone clearly in every wrinkle of his skin, every curve of muscles and arcing flare of power that surrounded him.</p><p>The Eldest’s aura curled in disbelief when he spoke. “…Aziraphale? But I thought you were….” There was a long pause, there, but Aziraphale could read it clearly.<br/>              “Dead?” He supplied, his voice tart with scorn that surprised even him<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>. “Executed, for my crimes against the Great Plan on Earth?” He stopped fidgeting. Aziraphale looked his former superior in the eye with something cold and spiteful in his heart.</p><p>Amenadiel gave a careful, deliberate nod. “Fear not,” he whispered. “You did your duty. I will do nothing to you.”<br/>              “Doing my <em>duty </em>never stopped anyone <em>else</em> from punishing me! And you weren’t there <em>this</em> time, either!” Aziraphale couldn’t help it, the words just snapped out of him like a serpent’s strike. “As always.” He sniffed, but it was not in disdain as that contrary part of him hoped. The sound was more like the sad, lonely sniffle of a puppy left alone for the first time. He rallied. “In any case. Eldest. I am helping to solve a murder investigation for the humans of this city, one that stinks of Celestial involvement. Do you happen to know anything of relevance?”<br/>              “Celestial—” Amenadiel broke off. “Well, Lucifer’s been helping the LAPD of late. Are you sure it isn’t him you’re sensing?”</p><p>              “What’s this about Lucifer?”</p><p> </p><p><em>That </em>was quite clearly the human. A soft, white woman flowed into the entryway, with long blond hair and glasses, and an air about her which <em>screamed </em>intellectual. She wore a loose summer dress, and beneath it—</p><p>              “A Nephil…” Aziraphale breathed. And it must be Amenadiel’s, too, with the protective way he turned toward her, the love in his every movements that was alike but so very different from an angel’s built-in love of everything. That… explained a lot. Amenadiel would hardly turn around and prosecute <em>him</em>, after allowing a new Nephil to be brought into formation against the edicts of Upstairs and Downstairs both. What did he plan to <em>do </em>with it? Surely he would not want it brought Upstairs, not with the way he so clearly loved this human. But what on Earth did he think to do with it here?</p><p>The human spoke. “Uh, why is he staring at me like that? Amenadiel, who is this?”</p><p>              “My apologies.” Amenadiel hauled in a great breath. He must have been on Earth a long while, if he’d picked up little motions like breathing. “Aziraphale, this is Dr. Linda Martin. Linda, meet… Aziraphale.”<br/>              “Another sibling of yours.” That wasn’t so much a question as it was an acknowledgement. A perceptive one, then. She frowned. “An… angel? Can angels be gay?”</p><p>At that, the Eldest laughed. That corporation suited him so <em>well, </em>with its loud and gentle laugh. Aziraphale marveled at the sound of it for a long moment before shaking off their wonder. They answered the question instead. “We can, yes, though I am not so much gay as asexual. I have little interest in that sort of, er, act with anyone whatsoever, though I don’t always mind it. I’m afraid I simply don’t see the point, with all that mess and— and anyway.”</p><p>That only made Amenadiel laugh harder, and even the spiteful little thing inside Aziraphale was glad. So she knew, then. Of course she did, what with the way the Eldest acted toward her<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>.</p><p>Aziraphale bit his lip. It could cause some awkwardness of course, but the poor lady had to know <em>that </em>as well<em>, </em>even if Amenadiel hated him for mucking everything up. “Are you, ah, aware that you’re…” he cleared his throat. “Pregnant?”<br/>That much should not yet be obvious to anyone not experienced with human pregnancies or able to sense the partial, co-dependent life form within by other means. Even Aziraphale would not have noticed, if not for the tiny, jarringly wrong bit of soul not yet separate from its mother. Crowley probably would have figured it out, though. And the humans did have those new-fangled pregnancy test things, now, so perhaps Dr. Martin at least knew she was pregnant. At the doctor’s raised eyebrow, Aziraphale elaborated. “You’re not simply pregnant is all, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it,” he babbled, “I mean you surely would have figured it out in your own time. But the embryo is going to be a Nephil, and that rather complicates the whole affair, you see? I can, I’m afraid I can already sense the conflicts of its hybrid nature within it.”</p><p>              “What do you mean?” Amenadiel’s voice was low and urgent. “I can feel it too, but I have no idea what the result will be. I admit I’ve been worried, but—well, humans have raised Nephilim before, right?”<br/>The principality choked. “Raised—” they spluttered. “Most Nephilim recorded grew to over a <em>mile </em>high while standing! And at least half were graced with forms incomprehensible to the human mind!” Aziraphale glanced from one shocked face to the other. Sighed. “Oh, bother. You didn’t know, did you?”</p><p>              “…Amenadiel.” Linda’s voice was firm, and only a little panicked. “Do you actually mean you weren’t going to <em>tell </em>me that our baby could grow to be several <em>thousand </em>feet tall?! How on Earth are we supposed to raise it?!?”<br/>              “I didn’t know!” The Eldest wailed, sounding for all the world like a bewildered child.</p><p>Aziraphale let himself stare for a moment longer before he gathered his resolve.</p><p>              “It’s more than that. Dr. Martin,” he said kindly. “We are <em>angels. </em>We don’t even <em>have </em>physical forms in our natural states, or form at all really. We are made up of… impressions, I suppose, not even energy as your physics considers it. Humans and Celestials are made of completely different substances!  These bodies, these corporations are closer to very sophisticated, personalized automobiles than what bodies are like for you. And yes, over the eons, we’ve come up with ways for celestials to interact with matter in ways that are not <em>disastrous </em>for anyone involved, but—well, Nephilim were always an accident, as far as Heaven is concerned. It’s like a very persistent bug in a particularly complicated computer. Even among angels, the difference in substance sometimes leaks through, and our corporations are very specifically designed to prevent that.” He hesitated. “Not that the Nephilim are <em>wrong, </em>of course. The Almighty allows them to exist no matter how inconvenient they may be on the mortal plane, so She must approve. Usually, they’re simply brought up on the Celestial plane nowadays, where all this mess is less of an issue.”<br/>              “I am <em>not </em>giving up this child to Heaven,” Amenadiel growled.<br/>              “Agreed.” Dr. Martin’s mouth was a flat line. “Not if it can be avoided. Your Heaven is in no way a healthy environment for <em>anyone </em>to grow up in.”</p><p> </p><p>There it was.<br/>Like standing <em>slightly </em>too close to a fire, the pinpricks of power revealing themselves to fill him with power, the moment he needed it. Principalities were creatures of place and defenders of the inhabitants; their protection imbued with what Aziraphale only knew how to describe as <em>grace. </em>Yes, Linda and her Nephil were well within his domain. He would protect them.  </p><p>               “You don’t need to. Not necessarily.”<br/>Aziraphale did not use any of his power, as he would were he tempting a human without an angel standing right beside them. He simply kept his words soft and persuasive, reminiscent of his Crowley basking in the sun, masking the cold cloak of holy fire beneath the folds of his corporation. Gently does it. He would protect the two mortals either way, of course. But if he might be going up against Heaven, than he really would rather at least extract something from Amenadiel for the trouble.<br/>              “I have met Nephilim on the mortal plane before, you know, and even seen them raised in quiet, without attracting undue attention from Upstairs.” And now that both parents were plainly hooked, anxious for any solution they could find, Aziraphale would offer an answer. And they would take it, of <em>course </em>they would. What other option did they think they had?<br/>Aziraphale picked at his clasped hands, and continued. “It is rare, but doable,” he said. “I will make you a deal.”<br/>That chill blue gaze looked Dr. Martin in the eyes, then Amenadiel.<br/>“Promise me that Heaven will do nothing to deliberately harm me or my… friend that I will designate, ever again, as far as you’re aware. Swear to protect us, and protect us <em>actively</em>, with our Lord the Lady God as witness, and I will swear to aid you in raising this Nephil on Earth as best I can, such that it is healthy and happy and does not draw down too much attention from Above until such time as it refuses my protection. I will grant it, and Linda, sanctuary.”</p><p>Amenadiel frowned down in clear confusion. “Who is this friend?” he asked. The suspicion was jarring, coming from the Eldest, but not unexpected. “What friend could you possibly have that fears our judgement just as much as you do?”</p><p>That was the kicker, clearly. Those perfectly-manicured hands clasped together, the angel’s posture straightened. Aziraphale took a deep, shaky breath.<br/>And let it out.</p><p>Finally, he answered. “My friend, the demon Crowley. My counterpart on Earth.”</p><p> </p><p>To Dr. Martin, this new path of conversation was <em>fascinating.</em></p><p>What had gone on, so long ago, between these two all-but-immortal beings to warrant such a careful relationship? Amenadiel plainly felt indebted to the stranger, but <em>why? </em>And the fussy one was wringing his hands, and biting his lip, he was so <em>clearly </em>scared, but there was something steel in those eyes—and those eyes, what was up with those <em>eyes?! </em>She could have sworn they’d been green, just a minute ago, and tinged with gold. This cold, hard blue was definitely different.<br/>              The rest of Linda Martin desperately wanted to go back to hearing about her future baby. Or rather, to hear something <em>reassuring</em> about it. What she could remember about Nephilim from all those half-forgotten Sunday School sessions was hardly encouraging: A mile high, blinding those who see them, possibly covered in eyes. Everything was possibly covered in eyes. She would have to ask Amenadiel about that: how many eyes did he actually have? She’d thought it was only two, but then, that was before anyone pointed out that they didn’t really have physical forms at all. Was there any guarantee that it would look anything like the, the bipedal humanoid she’d gotten used to? Or were their other forms more like Maze’s scarring, still variations on the theme?</p><p>
  <em>The baby.<br/>Right.</em>
</p><p>               “Amenadiel,” she interrupted.</p><p>The angels stopped.<br/>              “Yes, Linda?” Amenadiel turned toward her, and that was already more familiar. Even the fussy one, Aziraphale, had calmed, that icy gaze unnervingly fixed on her face.</p><p>              “I am <em>really </em>out of my depth with this one.” Linda crossed her arms in the hopes of feeling less anxious while she spoke. “If you won’t agree to protect this Crowley, I’m sure I can convince Lucifer to, and I absolutely will for the sake of the baby.” She glared. “I don’t <em>care</em> who Crowley is. Unless he’s imminently about to cause the end of the world, I’m finding <em>someone </em>to help me, whether that’s you or not.”</p><p>Aziraphale smothered a laugh. Badly. “<em>Cause </em>the end of the world?” he snickered—and then sobered. “Hold on just a moment, what do you <em>mean</em> you think you can convince Lucifer to protect us?! He tried to execute <em>my Crowley! </em>He’s not going to—”<br/>              “Wait, what?!?” Linda squawked. Apparently Lucifer was not the only celestial with the worst family <em>ever. </em>“He tried to—”<br/>              “—<em>protect </em>the demon who <em>stopped Armageddon—”<br/></em>              “There was an Armageddon?!?”<br/>That was about when Amenadiel inserted himself between them.</p><p> “I’ll do it.”</p><p>Linda narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t lying, as far as she could tell, but then Amenadiel always had been a weirdly good liar for a being that was supposed to be all about goodness and light. But he was staring at the other angel with some expression she couldn’t quite read, beyond a sort of pity and devotion that was so often on his face anyway. One dark hand closed over Aziraphale’s.<br/>              “If that is your request, I’ll do it,” he said softly. “Aziraphale, I already owe you my protection twice over, and it would be an honor to finally get the chance to redeem that debt. I know I wronged you. Even if it was by inaction, you were <em>my </em>charge, and <em>I </em>didn’t do enough to help you. I am—so very sorry for that. And if Crowley does something evil—” Amenadiel hesitated. “You have already been a much better angel than I, for a very long time. I trust you. On your head be it.”</p><p>Aziraphale flinched. That answer shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew, but it still did.</p><p>              “Thank you.” The principality murmured. “Yes. That’s the proper thing to say, is thank you.” The agreement seemed to settle something in Aziraphale, as he straightened his shoulders and finally relaxed.</p><p>              “Dr. Martin, if you would have my full protection, the thing to do is to ask me for <em>sanctuary</em>, preferably by that word, and I will grant it.” The words flowed easily now. Confidently.<br/>Aziraphale gave a still-somewhat-shaky smile before continuing with his explanation.<br/>              “I will do my best to help you regardless, but sanctuary makes it a formal agreement, and gives me access to a different… resource, I suppose, than usual. It is a function of Principalities. If you need my help for any reason, say or think my name. I will always hear you, and if necessary come to your aid. If you need a safe place to be, you may enter any space that is mine, and be protected.” He hesitated. “I’m not actually sure, right now, if churches would be applicable in this case, as you are in large part seeking protection from <em>Heaven</em>. But any place that I, specifically, have blessed should be alright—you will be able to feel the difference, so that should be simple enough to verify. If you are hurt, I will know, and if you die, I will be summoned to bear you to your final destination.” He finished. “That’s about everything on your end.”<br/>That sounded… uneven.<br/>But this was an angel Linda was dealing with, not a faerie or something. “That’s all?” she asked. “I don’t owe you… anything?”</p><p>              “Your caution is commendable, Dr. Martin.” When Aziraphale actually, genuinely smiled, the expression positively lit up the room. “But no, you owe me nothing, and I will take no payment from you for protection. As a Principality and a creature of the divine, this is my duty, and my nature.”</p><p>Linda narrowed her eyes.<br/>But Amenadiel certainly seemed to think sanctuary was a good idea, and he knew how this worked better than she did, and this really didn’t seem to actually require anything of her.<br/>“Alright,” she decided. “Aziraphale, I hereby ask you for sanctuary for myself and this future baby, assuming I decide to keep it. Does that work?”</p><p>There was definitely something happening.</p><p>Aziraphale already had a sort of confidence she hadn’t seen on him this entire conversation, and something about him felt huge, and powerful, like a mountain standing in her doorway. That smile, now, was implacable.<br/>              “Yes,” he spoke, and that voice was the solid slam of stone. “Linda Martin, I accept your request. I hereby grant you sanctuary for as long as you will have it.” A quirk of the lips turned a spark of that strange power into amusement, added a glimmer of good humor to his sober face. “My domain is all the Earth. I am its guardian, and you are safe within it.”</p><p><br/>Gold, his eyes had turned <em>gold </em>now, what the hell was up with that?<br/>But after a few seconds, the tenseness of the moment evaporated, the power seeping back from whence it came now that the words were said.</p><p>Linda let out a shaky breath. When she looked up, Aziraphale was just Aziraphale again, looking kind and polite and gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. She could definitely see the resemblance with Amenadiel, especially in that generically fond expression on his face. Maybe all angels had it. It certainly fit for a general-but-unspecific love of everything that they were supposed to have going on. She smiled back, a little hesitant.</p><p>              “Remember, you can always ask for me, even if it’s not an emergency.” That reminder came in a murmur before Aziraphale sighed, settling back into his more rumpled normal demeanor. “Now I really must return to talking about the case.”<br/>              “There should only be three nonhumans in the city,” Amenadiel frowned. “Me, Lucy, and Maze—Mazikeen, that is, of the Lilum. Lucifer’s right Hand. She came with him from Hell. And I suppose the embryo, depending on how you’re counting.”</p><p>Well, that certainly narrowed the suspect pool a bit. “I counted at least six,” the other angel tugged at a lock of hair near his temple. “Not including myself and Crowley or Azrael, that is, so really that’s more like nine. You, Lucifer, Mazikeen, and the embryo would account for four—that leaves two others, minimum. I don’t recognize either of them.” That was a lie. One of them, the one that Aziraphale suspected to be Fallen, felt vaguely familiar—but without meeting them in person, or being intimately familiar with their magic, it was hard to tell. “Do you—either of you—have any idea who that might be?”<br/>              “I certainly haven’t noticed anyone,” Linda answered.<br/>              “No, neither have I.”<br/><em>              Bugger.</em><br/>               “Well, keep an eye out, I suppose,” Aziraphale’s eyes skidded off to the side. “Let me know if you find anything?”<br/>              “How?”</p><p>              “I—” That elicited some pause. “Oh, I suppose that <em>would</em> be a good idea, not putting a bunch of calls on my Celestial record.” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Well, I haven’t got a mobile, and I’m not at the shop. Um. How about Crowley’s mobile phone?”<br/>The angel rummaged in his pocket for a moment, and fished out a number, printed in flowing, golden cursive. “Here,” he smiled. “Call them if you need me. Alright? And if it’s an emergency—“ that gaze flickered back to Amenadiel again, suddenly nervous again. “If it’s an emergency, then pray for my assistance, and I will come. Just, ah, please don’t mention that to anyone. Prayer calls are supposed to all go straight to the Metatron, and I wouldn’t risk rousing their ire if I can avoid it. Only they stopped being routed through upstairs after Armageddon,” Aziraphale dithered, “and I don’t know how it happened, much less how to put it back. Besides, it’s quite handy, to be frank, having my own stream of belief now that Heaven isn’t topping me up anymore, even if my believers are mostly made up of neighborhood children and the like.”</p><p>That seemed to surprise Amenadiel most of all.</p><p>              “They cut you off?!” he demanded. “But how could they—they wanted you dead,” a realization.<br/>The Eldest sucked in air through his teeth with the hiss of desert winds. “They already wanted you dead, didn’t they? And realized they couldn’t do it themselves when the execution failed, just like they can’t make you Fall. So by denying you your miracle allotment, and cutting off your metaphysical line to the belief stream, they can kill you passively. Just wait for some human to come around and do it for them, or for you to fade away into obscurity.”<br/>              “Precisely,” the apparently-no-longer-quite-an-angel sniffed. “Cowards. Besides, I am friends with <em>several </em>human witches, back in Britain, not to mention a demon. I do know a <em>little</em> of how these things work.”</p><p>Amenadiel let out a breath of deep relief before he spoke. “I’m glad. Fading is a miserable way to go. And besides—” a small, sad smile appeared on his face. “Now you have one more human believer.” He fiddled with the paper in one hand. “Go well, Aziraphale. I’ll let you know what I find.”</p><p>The principality took a deep breath. “Right,” he muttered. “Right. Best of luck, both of you. I guess I’ll be on my way.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Or rather, it surprised the Cherub part of him. The Principality, long turned to cynicism and all such human things, was more gratified than anything else.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> They were not <em>supposed </em>to let the humans figure it out, of course, much less tell them up front. But their lives were so short, and the little creatures were really remarkably perceptive, and what was he going to do about it in any case, and—well, it always did feel awful to lie about something as big as that.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. and every living thing-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry I missed last week, I simply did not have the time to post. We should be back on the normal schedule now. ^_^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale was in the air again.</p><p>At least two other Celestials in the city were still unaccounted for.<br/>
For lack of any other direction, perhaps he should begin by tracking down that half-familiar demonic presence in the city below. That would certainly be easier than trying to get in contact with Azrael, not to mention far less unnerving.  <br/>
Now where…</p><p><em>               Huh.<br/>
               That can't be right.<br/>
</em>The moment Aziraphale tried to narrow down an actual <em>location </em>for the demon’s aura, it seemed to part before him like fog in the wind. Whoever this was must be trying to hide it. Was it just hellish paranoia? Crowley had certainly tried to hide, those first few millennia on Earth. They’d even succeeded, with a few bloody exceptions. But Aziraphale had six millennia of experience, now, at being a principality, and principalities were fundamentally creatures of <em>place. </em>He knew this. Knew it in the depths of him, inevitable like the sun in the East, inevitable like the Garden’s Fall. If he asked?<br/>
This Place would answer.</p><p>Aziraphale alighted in the park where the King of Hell first found them.</p><p>It would be easier, here, with his feet on the ground, his toes in the dirt. This place was a Place of Earth, after all, not of Heaven. A deep, gentle breath. First things first, he’d have to loosen this corporation a little. Easy enough with some ceremonial magic to help, even if it was still a considerable expense of miracle energy to hide it from the humans. Aziraphale took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a diagram that hovered just above the grass.</p><p>              “Right,” he murmured.<br/>
And then he manifested a small dagger in his hand, and pricked one finger so the blood dropped into place. He healed the cut without a thought. The dagger, Aziraphale kept in his hand, pointed at the edge of the floating chalk circle as he turned, starting from the East. <em>May you hide all within this circle from those outside of it,</em> <em>and turn them away without harm, </em>he thought, and with a nudge of energy, the circle flared to life. Aziraphale returned to the East. <em>Perfect</em>.</p><p>He pulled out his wings at last, and it was pure relief to shake them free of their little pocket of nonexistence again. They always got so <em>itchy </em>in there, he couldn’t stand it! But now he had a job to do. Aziraphale took another deep breath, and <em>relaxed. </em></p><p> </p><p>It was a good thing he’d hidden himself from the passers-by.<br/>
Four great, blue-grey wings with a broad white stripe stretched up and out on either side of the angel. What’s more, Aziraphale no longer looked remotely <em>human</em>, even without those extra limbs—it was something in his mannerisms, in the absolute stillness with which he stood, the ineffable stability of his feet that dug into the ground. His face was upturned, relaxed in concentration. His hands, palms tilted to the sky, stood as branches about him. And the light… It was not so much a visible light surrounding him as it was a psychic one. Even with Aziraphale within this shield, the plants strained upward for several meters around, a barking dog quieted, a baby ceased to cry and fell instantly asleep.<br/>
The angel’s breaths were slow and steady.</p><p>It was always an unnerving state to be in.</p><p>He could feel life, all around him, treading softly through the streets. He could feel the roll of highways rushing through his blood, the grass whispering on his skin in a chorus of <em>grow grow grow grow grow</em>, could feel himself spread out and distort and settle, incorporeal, into the land. Oh, this was how he was meant to be! It was a trial, now, holding onto his body, keeping some significant part of himself locked within it and not rushing free in the breeze, encircling the city. Stretching out, it was easier still to simply keep relaxing, to spread out like a tidal wave and feel it <em>all, </em>the itch of mining, the mountain peaks, the glowing adornments of buildings that humans built and kept alight. And somewhere, on the other side of the world, was his bookshop. Oh, that was a relief, to hurry back home, to hum to himself in the shadows between the shelves. He always forgot the way he could encircle the whole world with hardly a stretch, in this state. And the books! They’d gotten restless without his presence, and now they muttered to themselves, whispered greetings as he passed.</p><p><em>              Hello! </em>The angel crowed. <em>Hello, my dears! I’m home!</em></p><p><em>The Picture of Dorian Grey </em>gave a rustle, and Aziraphale automatically reached out a tendril to soothe it. <em>Don’t worry, </em>he said. <em>I won’t leave you. </em><br/>
That wasn’t right.<br/>
Aziraphale gave a mournful whistle somewhere in Scotland, scaring a couple that were trying to snog in the park. Something wasn’t right about this. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something? Where was Crowley? </p><p>The angel searched through London in an instant, and keened when he could not find his Crowley. A security guard at the British Museum burst spontaneously into tears so grief-stricken her soul trembled, and found itself confused. But then the angel passed, and the tears dried. Crowley was not on the island at all, that presence found, and soon it was zooming across the planet again, searching, searching.</p><p>
  <em>              Nowhere. </em><br/>
<em>              Gone.</em>
</p><p>Why was Crowley gone? Why did that not surprise him?</p><p>And then the angel was face-to-face with something else, another incorporeal presence, slipping from its own corporation in Korea.<br/>
<em>              :Aziraphale?:<br/>
</em>Why did it not feel quite right, to roll across creation? He was <em>made </em>for this!<br/>
<em>              :Aziraphale, what are you doing?! You’ll get in trouble with the boss, if you don’t get back in your corporation!: </em>the voice spoke, insistent and just a touch alarmed.<em><br/>
              :Anael?: </em>A haze lay over his thoughts. <em>:I haven’t seen you in ages! Come play with me!:<br/>
              :You’re not seeing me now!: </em>There was a familiar frustration in that presence. <em>:Come on, it’s hard to stay here without expanding, even for the likes of us. You </em>need<em> to go back to your body. If you’re looking for someone, that’s probably where they’ll be.:</em></p><p>That was enough to remind him. <em>:Crowley! I forgot about Crowley!: </em>an anguished wail. A whole wall of call center temps a few blocks away found themselves overwhelmed by sadness in the middle of their phone calls. But then the tearful presence retreated, fleeing back to where an empty corporation sat unnoticed in a park. The angel remembered—he knew where Crowley was. He wasn’t looking for Crowley. The one he was looking for was… <em>that. </em></p><p>It was easy for Aziraphale to sink himself into the land. Almost as easy as it had been to spread himself out across creation, the way every angel and former angel had spent most of their existence before the Rebellion. The only hard part was sticking to the city he wanted, only LA, he only wanted to speak to LA.<br/>
<em>              :Hello?: </em>he asked.</p><p>The city did not speak.<br/>
It <em>moved. </em><br/>
              This was not the same as wrapping himself around the planet had been. There, he had been one more echo in flight, unseen and all-perceiving. Here, Aziraphale felt small, puny and powerless beneath this great and rumbling thing, malignant skyscrapers rising up before him with eyes glowing in the sun, eyes glowing in the night. There was no time here. No, here there was only <em>history </em>unending, from a Tongva village to these silicon towers, with centuries of murder and smallpox and sunlight in between. How had he never known?<br/>
A wisp of air escaped his imagined lips. The power of a Place, somewhere with history and personality, he’d picked up hints of it before, but this—this was <em>alive</em>! Some vast, slow-moving creature made up of people, made of desire, of love, hatred, and shopping carts!<br/>
<em>Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies!<br/>
</em>He could not help but think of the poem. That Allen Ginsberg fellow, he’d certainly had his pulse on a city, even if he was a bit pessimistic about it all.  </p><p> Aziraphale tried again.<br/>
              <em>:I’m searching,: </em>he thought, and that was about as far as he got.</p><p>The ocean swelled. A tiny angel surfaced atop the wave, gasping down at the twinkling city below. And then the world became a telepathic <em>roar. </em>City streets rushed past in a confusion of eras, mud and sand and steel and glass, violence and ecstasy, the wave of <em>place </em>carrying him down a twisted route from street to street, to drop his consciousness summarily on the pavement.</p><p>It took far too long for Aziraphale to rip himself away from the colored lights in his mind.<br/>
He looked up.</p><p><em>              Oh, </em>he managed, numbly. <em>It seems I know where it is now.</em></p><p>Bit by bit, the image faded, and Aziraphale returned to his corporation. He hovered above it for a long moment. And then sighed. <em>I can’t just stay out here forever, </em>he reminded himself as sternly as he could. <em>Even if—no. </em>So back inside that mortal body he stuffed himself, piece by too-large piece, compressing and condensing and forcing his being into flesh so small he couldn’t help but shine through just a little. He probably wouldn’t feel comfortable in his corporation again for <em>months, </em>but here he was.<br/>
Aziraphale settled in.</p><p><em>Right, </em>he thought. G<em>ravity. </em></p><p>It wasn’t quite as hard a transition as he thought it would be. At least when he opened his eyes again, they were still <em>his </em>eyes, and not just the corporation’s, and to be honest that was more than he’d hoped for.</p><p>Aziraphale got stiffly to his feet.<br/>
Now he had a location for that demon, too, and a wonderfully vivid internal map of the city, not that it made him want to do that again anytime soon. To be honest, the whole experience reminded him rather too much of those drugs he’d ended up trying back in the 60s to ever seek out when he had another option, because that was just too… much. Not to mention all the dangers of leaving his corporation.<br/>
Then Aziraphale jumped when a psychic pang of urgency rattled through him.</p><p>He had to get to that alley. He had to get there <em>now. </em>He didn’t even bother cleaning up the circle, just opened the loop and told the chalk to stop levitating, and let whatever power remained drain itself into the Earth. Los Angeles could eat it. Los Angeles, it seemed, would be <em>glad </em>to eat it. He didn’t know that he had time to fly, either, so instead he summoned up his concentration and <em>stepped—</em></p><p><br/>
              “Oh,” Aziraphale said in another place than he had been just a moment before, and called his sword to hand. “It’s <em>you.</em>”</p><p>The demon’s hand started to <em>squeeze </em>around its victim’s throat as it turned.<br/>
The human made some choked noise of protest, and pulled a gun out of its holster, staring at Aziraphale as if the angel were the one in need of rescue. But the poor thing’s face was uncomfortably red, and his feet weren’t even touching the ground, and Aziraphale knew exactly how these next few moments would proceed. The human would shoot. The demon would squeeze, and break its victim’s neck, and not even bother to heal the little hole from the gunshot before wandering off to wreak havoc.</p><p>Hastur leered.<br/>
“I didn’t know <em>you </em>were in the city, you flighty piece of shit. And they said <em>Crowley </em>was tempting!”</p><p><em>              Unacceptable</em>.<br/>
That was when Aziraphale boiled over. It was hard enough sharing <em>his Crowley </em>with Hell for all these years, hard enough when Upstairs came to kill him. It was hard enough being ignored ever since the failed executions, and needing to make his own following, and watching from the sidelines while the King of Hell did <em>bad things </em>to <em>his Crowley</em>. At least here and now he could <em>do something</em>!<br/>
Rage, rage, it pushed his self out around his corporation, dripping and bursting and <em>roiling. </em>Hastur’s eyes widened, and it was with cruel satisfaction that the angel recognized fear in that rotting face, that rotting face that would be <em>clean </em>when Aziraphale smote it <em>dead </em>with that sword that pulsed heat on his own holy skin like the sun. The demon cursed, and let go, and ducked—</p><p>Hastur screamed when the flaming sword cut.</p><p>It was enough to jerk Aziraphale from his trance, to make him hesitate. He remembered the last time he’d heard a scream like that. And he wanted to kill, had to protect the humans, protect his charge from outside dangers, but that <em>scream—<br/>
</em>Too late.</p><p>The demon was gone, now, a thousand maggots squirming on the street, burrowing into the ground the way no real maggot could. Was he still alive? For a given value of alive, probably. Not even much less than usual. And the human!</p><p>              Aziraphale came back to himself with a start.<br/>
              <em>There’s a human here. </em>He stared, and the human stared back. <em>Oh <span class="u">bugger</span></em><a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a><em>. There’s a human here, and I just, I just smote someone with a flaming sword right in front of them! </em>And then, slowly, relief and amusement replaced the probably-disproportionate fury. He smothered a hysterical little laugh. <em>At least I don’t have to worry about the paperwork anymore.<br/>
 </em>“Oh dear,” he said when he finally got himself under control. “I do hope I didn’t kill him.”</p><p>The human, somewhat surprisingly, had not bolted. His eyes were fixed on Aziraphale, wide and trembling, and his hands were shaking too with that nasty little pistol between them. After a long moment, the human spoke, and that voice was hoarse and creaky from the darkening bruises around his neck.<br/>
“What the <em>fuck </em>was that?!” he lowered the gun. “Did you just—with a sword?! And he—”  the human started coughing then, great, horrible coughs that made Aziraphale wince from the sound of them.</p><p>              “Do not fear, dear boy.” Aziraphale tried to get closer, but the human raised that silly gun again, even as he massaged his throat. The red spots where Hastur’s hands had been were already starting to bruise.<br/>
              “No.” The man croaked. “No, I think I want you to stay right there, and maybe put the sword down while you’re at it.” He moistened chapped lips, in what was probably a gesture of nervousness. “Who are you? How did you do that? Hell, what even <em>was</em> that thing?”</p><p>Oh right, the sword. That probably did make him come across rather threatening, come to think of it. Aziraphale returned it to its place in his shop with a thought.<br/>
“That was… well, to be perfectly honest I don’t think you really want to know,” it was easy to spread that accustomed, faintly paternal smile across his features, even as shaken up as he was. “But I am known as Ezra Fell. You were attacked by a… vicious creature that it is part of my Function to hunt, and you are standing in <em>my domain, </em>and so I stabbed it with the first thing that came to hand. Um. Not that most of that will mean anything to you.”</p><p>              “Is it… dead? He?” The human was clearly searching for the newly-disappeared sword, but gave up when it was nowhere to be seen.<br/>
              “I suppose ‘he’ is the correct term. I’ve never heard otherwise, in any case, though I haven’t actually met that nasty creature in person before. His name is Hastur,” Aziraphale scowled, “and that loathsome thing has caused quite a lot of trouble for me and my, ah, partner in the past. Bloody maggots. I doubt that he’ll stay hidden for long, since he dissolved before I could get a real blow in.” It was just as well. Even now, with Hastur, Aziraphale would rather avoid actually <em>killing </em>anyone, and they’d been in such a rage, they likely would have.  </p><p>The human stared some more.<br/>
              “Wait,” he finally said. “You just… Alright, screw this.” Like a dog freshly out of the water, the man gave himself a psychic shake. He would process all these impossibilities <em>later. </em>“Here’s what’s going to happen, Mr. Fell.” A long, slow exhale. “You’re going to come with me on a little ride in my car to a place I know, and I’m gonna, I’m gonna ask you a few questions. Somewhere safe.” The human nodded to himself, evidently pleased with the idea. “Yeah. And then I’m gonna bring in a co-worker, who will take one look at you and reassure me that I’m <em>not </em>suddenly stuck in an episode of the x-files, and then we’re gonna let you go, because even though vigilante justice is illegal, I don’t understand anything whatsoever that just happened and you probably saved my life. I’m, uh. I’m police. A detective. I can show you my badge if you like, but I’m not gonna arrest you, I’m not even bringing you to the precinct, okay? I haven’t a clue what I would tell people there anyway. Just… just in case.”</p><p>Not the precinct. Good. And this was a different area of the city anyway from the precinct where Lucifer was, so surely it was under some other jurisdiction. It should be safe enough. Aziraphale cocked their head, and, after a moment’s thought, answered.<br/>
“Very well. Lead the way. Detective.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>~~~<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Unseen beneath the pavement, the swirling mass of self that represented the demon Hastur condensed itself in someone’s basement. He had been very lucky, he knew, to have escaped discorporation this time. What the Heaven was Crowley’s Enemy doing <em>here?! </em></p><p>The last maggot dropped out of the crumbling concrete wall.<br/>
It was a matter of mere thought for Hastur to collect all the squirming bits of himself into a pillar, and from there, a second later, he stood on two battered feet in the dark. Hatred curled in his gut. <em>Aziraphale.</em> He had to find an excuse to go after Aziraphale.</p><p>He shivered.</p><p>On second thought, that sounded like a supremely <em>bad idea. </em>The bloody principality had been angry this time, <em>really </em>angry, murder angry. It didn’t matter that Hastur had to get revenge, that <em>someone</em> had to make that feathery bastard <em>pay </em>for what he’d done, for <em>tempting </em>Crowley into, into whatever it was those two were always doing together. Hastur had not survived Below for six millennia by being stupid. No. He’d waited this long, he could wait a little longer.<br/>
Someone else would have to give the angel his due. <em><br/>
</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Aziraphale did their best to censor any stronger exclamations out of their more coherent, verbalized thoughts, but it got rather difficult on occasion. Hopefully no-one of import was listening?</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. -will know its touch.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In which shit starts going down! &gt;:3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a knock on the door.<br/>Beelzebub sighed. Dagon again, was it? “Enter!” ze sighed.<br/>The door creaked open, scraping obnoxiously on the floor. Ugh. Beelzebub really needed to get that fixed, that thing was driving zer bonkers—whoever it was cleared their throat.<br/>              “Um," a voice stuttered.</p><p><em>              Absolutely not.<br/></em>Beelzebub whipped zer head up and stared<em>. </em>“…Crowley?! What the Heaven are you doing—”<br/>A pardon. That was a <em>pardon, </em>branded into the demon’s very essence from the King of Hell himself, so fresh ze could still make out a whiff of smoke. Of course, the smoke part might just be wafting in from the Pits.<br/>Ze closed zer mouth. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>Crowley fidgeted.<br/>They were always fidgeting, their eyes gliding all around the room like they expected to be attacked at any second. Which was fair enough, Beelzebub supposed. The snake wasn’t exactly at the top of the hierarchy Down Here.<br/>              “I, uh. Your Highness. Hello. Lucifer sent me,” Crowley stammered at last. They fiddled with those ridiculous shaded glasses of theirs as if it might help them somehow, black-painted fingernails running anxiously along the hinges.<br/>              “So I gathered.” With effort, Beelzebub pulled zer expressions back under control. <em>Surprise </em>was not helpful when commanding legions upon legions of demons, so ze had gotten very good at suppressing it over the years.<br/>              “I didn’t know who else to ask!” burst Crowley after a long, awkward moment. “You know me, Prince, I’ve spent the past few millennia avoiding Hell as much as possible.” They cringed. “And Ligur’s gone, and I don’t know where Hastur is or if I’d even <em>ask</em> either of them in the first place, and I’ve barely even met the other Earthly agents. But. You’re organized. Competent. All that. And I don’t <em>think </em>you hate me enough to override an official pardon, or at least not unless it actually gets you something, and He only pardoned me like twenty minutes ago so it would be weird if you already had enough reason to ignore it.”</p><p>“The <em>task, </em>Crowley.”<br/>              “Right, right.” Crowley scrubbed at their face, leaving smears of ash behind. At least the ash made them stick out a little less. “Sorry. I’m kinda babbling.” They heaved a great breath. Beelzebub tried not to show the spark of amusement that popped up at the other demon’s expense, between how nervous they looked and the way they cringed away from practically everything around them. The snake was usually a little more composed when they visited zer office. “There’s been, uh, some interference. In our Lord’s plans.” Crowley crossed their arms, leaning against the doorway with nonchalance that even ze could tell was feigned. “He needs a list of all demons with larvae, worm, or caterpillar aspects, and another of all demons to have been on Earth in the past year. Imps, Lilum, Fallen, whatever. All demons. And their assignments and locations, of course.”</p><p>So that’s what this was about.<br/>Beelzebub hid zer annoyance as best ze could. “You know,” ze droned, “Our Lord could always come down here Himself to check.”</p><p>The snake hunched in on themself a little further. Fearful creature.<br/>              “But I will prepare those lists nonetheless.” It was an order, after all. Ze would be truthful, because the Lord detested lies, but that was about all ze was willing to guarantee. “When does He need them?”<br/>              “As soon as possible.” Crowley answered. “I have to be back up there by dawn in Los Angeles, though I suppose I might be able to come back here later to pick stuff up, if I have to. It’s, uh. Urgent. The Lord’s definitely got some plans in motion and all that, and whoever this is is gonna mess it all up.”<br/>Beelzebub rolled zer eyes. “Of <em>course</em>. But nothing so urgent He feels the need to actually come down here himself, or give His loyal bloody Princes enough of a break to come up and talk to him in person without all of Hell falling into chaos. If there’s nothing else?”<br/>              “Er…”<br/>              “Good.” Beelzebub turned zer attention to zer desk, and smiled at the way Crowley did not grow any more relaxed. Earth might be making them soft, but at least it had not made them any less vigilant—not when they were Downstairs, in any case. That was useful. Crowley had to be working with Lucifer, if they’d managed to get an actual bloody <em>pardon </em>with the Lord’s mark on it and everything. It would not do for any demon Lucifer relied on to grow complacent, even if Beelzebub did think they were a whiny, traitorous little shit. Still, even Crowely would be bound to pass the message along eventually. And watchful as they were, they would probably have noticed their Prince’s discontent.<br/>Beelzebub glanced at zer schedule, a mess of unreadable scribbles and dirt and constant bloody meetings. <em>Fuck </em>meetings. “Report to reception in Earthly Services after the triple bell,” ze droned after a moment. “The lists’ll be waiting for you, or there’ll be Hell to pay. Until then, you’re on your own.”</p><p>Crowley looked… relieved. What, had they not expected zer to cooperate with orders from the <em>Lord of Hell</em>? “Yes sir!” they gushed. “Thank you, Prince! I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”<br/>Beelzebub sighed. “Get out.”<br/>They went.   </p><p>~~~</p><p><em>              The triple bell, huh?</em><br/>Crowley glanced at their watch, but the only time it listed for Hell was, as always, <em>Too Late.<br/></em>Fair enough. Really what that meant is that time was variable in Hell, both in that it was untethered from Earth as a whole and variable in different areas of Hell. It was definitely annoying—but demons still had to keep track of time somehow. Hence the bell system. Crowley pitied the poor imps whose jobs it was to sit around in the bell towers, waiting for the next tower up the line to pass along the time in Dis. It could be <em>days </em>before an hour passed in the capital, sometimes. Weeks! Or only seconds.  <br/>But when Crowley finally got within sight of the central tower, it looked like Dis had just rolled over to the first bell.</p><p>They relaxed.<br/>              “Only four Dis hours, then. Not too bad. I can spend most of that lurking out by the sulphur pits—nobody even has to know I’m there, <em>and </em>I can prob’ly get back to LA on my own before the Lord wrenches me back himself! Plus I can actually find my way <em>to </em>Earthly Services pretty reliably, so that’s something.” Come to think of it, they should probably stop talking to themself. It probably made them look nervous, and nervous was <em>not </em>a good look when surrounded by strange demons. At least Crowley knew what to expect from Hastur and Ligur, most of the time, maybe—the rest of Hell was a different story entirely.</p><p>And it was still evening in Los Angeles.<br/>Crowley hid.<br/><br/></p><p>~~~</p><p>Meanwhile, Aziraphale found themself being driven to what appeared to be a particularly high-end night club on the other side of town.</p><p><em>LUX, </em>the sign spelled out in lights.</p><p>Was that the reason behind the name, light as in the Latin meaning? Or was it for luxury? The shiny black and chrome of the building’s exterior certainly radiated luxury; that sleek, modern kind which Crowley was so fond of. It screamed <em>money </em>in every awkward angle, every gleaming spotless and completely unyielding surface, in the way it punished any unlucky creature which dared try and use its furniture for its intended purpose. Nevertheless, Aziraphale kept their distaste to themself when the human—Daniel, apparently—led them inside.</p><p>This was… not what they had expected. It was just a building, yes, and filled with humans, brimming with love and all the noise of their existence. It also smelled distinctly of sulphur. Distinctly to an angelic nose, in any case, which for a human meant that it probably did not smell at all, especially not over the reek of alcohol. It was empty at this time of day, but for a jaded-looking fellow at the bar.</p><p>Daniel strode in almost surreptitiously, as if he was not <em>quite</em> certain of his welcome. “Hey,” he asked the bartender. “Is, uh, is Chloe still here? She said the two of them had—I don’t know.”<br/>              “You mean that other detective?” the bartender drawled. “Long blond hair, looks like the actress from High School Hot Tub?”<br/>              “I am positive you know who Chloe is.” That seemed to make Daniel a little more sure of himself. “Yes, it’s her. Is she still here?”<br/>              “Sorry,” the man at the bar chuckled. “She’s up with the boss. Looked antsy about something—”</p><p>Daniel didn’t even bother listening to whatever the other man was saying. He whirled around and made a bee-line for what looked to be a particularly fancy elevator, Aziraphale trailing along behind. The elevator smelled even more like demons. That did not bode well.  If Lucifer was <em>here</em>—well, Aziraphale weren’t sure what they would do. They couldn’t just leave, certainly, after they had promised Daniel an explanation.</p><p> </p><p>There were a few awkward seconds while the elevator ascended.</p><p>This whole place felt deeply, unusually <em>loved, </em>Aziraphale was beginning to realize. Every polished edge and glaring light of it. The contrast was terribly strange. And then on the other hand—as the elevator drew higher, the stink of Hell grew more and more pronounced. Aziraphale shivered. What could he do? Just <em>ask </em>his escort if there were demons here?  The poor man would think he’d gone ‘round the twist!</p><p>And then the elevator doors opened, and Aziraphale pressed themself against the wall.</p><p>              “Mr. Fell?” The human paused, clearly exasperated. “Come on. What’s your problem?”<br/>              “N-nothing, dear boy!” they squeaked. “Nothing at all. Are you sure this floor is, um, is exactly safe?” Aziraphale was… not the best at improvisation. Really, they’d tried. But this didn’t sound <em>too </em>improbable, so maybe the human would—<br/>              “Just get out here.” No such luck. Daniel folded his arms, and Aziraphale shuffled out.</p><p><em>              Just look at those windows, </em>the angel thought. <em>If I really need to, I can just, I can just fly away! </em>But their second thoughts voiced themselves, regardless of how dearly Aziraphale wished they wouldn’t. <em>Of course, so can he. </em></p><p>The elevator doors closed, and Lucifer was upon them.</p><p>              “<em>YOU!” </em><br/>Aziraphale slammed into the wall, gazing up somewhat dazedly at the Adversary above them, the burning hands clamped onto their lapels. Honestly, it felt like a bit of an overreaction.<br/>              “What are <em>YOU </em>doing here?!” The eyes of Lucifer, Lord of Darkness, were burning coals in a hell-forged face, sudden rage only barely veiled by His corporation.</p><p>              “What the Hell—”<br/>Aziraphale could hear humans in the distance.<br/>              <em>Oh bugger, </em>they realized. <em>They’ll see it. And then I’ll, I’ll be in even more trouble, and even if I’m only discorporated, what do I do then?! I can’t </em>fight <em>the Lord of Hell! I can’t even fight another angel, I’m too broken</em> <em>for that!</em></p><p>And then someone pulled Lucifer off them.</p><p>              “LUCIFER!” a woman shouted. It was a miracle that she managed to move him. How else could anyone actually be <em>stronger</em> than the King of Hell? But the woman didn’t feel demonic, or angelic, or anything other than human—she simply peeled off those too-tight hands before they managed to do more than smoke, and gazed at the Adversary with an expression of steel. “WHAT do you think you’re doing?!” she demanded. “Who is this?!”<br/>              “Oh, yes, what am <em>I </em>doing?!” The Lord of Hell was pure fire to look upon. “Principality of Earth, Right Hand of the Antichrist who cast me from my body, what are <em>you </em>doing in <em>my city? </em>You <em>dare?! </em>You dare come into the heart of my domain and—”</p><p>              “Lucifer!”<br/>The King of Darkness broke off. “I should have believed Crowley about that heavenly disinfectant, shouldn’t I? It was you. Obvious, now I think of it, of course you’ve come to try and <em>thwart </em>me. You pitiful excuse for a Cherub.” He leaned closer. “Believe me, you haven’t a <em>chance.</em>”<br/> <br/>Aziraphale straightened.</p><p>              A title. Lucifer himself knew who they were and had bestowed upon them a <em>title, </em>another <em>Name, </em>because of the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t? He’d <em>noticed</em> them? Which meant…<br/>              <em>Pitiful excuse for a Cherub indeed, </em>they thought smugly.<br/>Aziraphale let a small, cool smile cross their face, and began straightening their clothes as if they weren’t still quaking in their boots. Now was the time to channel Crowley, they figured. Confidence would get them much farther than the appearance of compliance, against the King of Hell. “I believe you will recall that I am <em>not </em>a Cherub anymore,” they answered. Lucifer wouldn’t remember them, wouldn’t have named them if they didn’t matter. If they weren’t enough of a <em>threat</em> to matter. Why would He bother? <em>Oh, how delicious! </em>Their thoughts began spiraling into absurdity. <em>Lucifer thinks of </em>me <em>as a threat! And evidently, this human is at least somewhat able to keep him in line. She certainly seems to think so, and managed it well enough at the precinct! </em></p><p>“Hello.” Aziraphale turned to Detective Decker, and now his smile was warm and trembled not at all. “My name is Aziraphale. And let me be the first to assure you, I am not the murderer.” Every ounce of empathy they had poured into those words. Hopefully the detective would sense that, and actually believe them. They continued, and spoke only truth. “Believe me, I mean none of you any harm.”</p><p>Detective Decker seemed surprised, but she was a hard woman to read. Daniel, on the other hand, appeared largely convinced.</p><p>              “Even me?” Lucifer was another story entirely. His arms were folded, his gaze smoldering, and it took all of Aziraphale’s effort not to succumb to the pit of abject terror that presence opened up beneath them.</p><p>              “Even you.” <em>Lucifer? Lord? How on Earth was he supposed to address the actual Devil?! </em>Aziraphale cleared his throat. Perhaps he could ease things along a little with Crowley as well. “As it happens, I am looking for my—” <em>husband. Partner. </em>“—my Enemy.” He addressed the Lord Lucifer himself, this time. “They’re incredibly canny, I’m afraid, and I have long been somewhat… scattered.” Aziraphale forced their smug expression into something a little more apologetic, and let their true self twitch in their corporation. Lucifer, of course, noticed with a wince. “They’ve been keeping such a low profile, they’ve actually managed to elude my grasp! Or—well. <em>Crowley </em>has eluded me. Their, ah, current nemesis I suppose, the demon Hastur, has not. That is why I’m, uh.” They floundered. “That’s why I’m here, specifically. Daniel was…”<br/>Daniel interjected, disquiet all over his face. “Mr. Fell stabbed a… person? A person who was trying to strangle me. With a flaming sword.” He shivered. “Not a flaming sword, that would be impossible. A, a, a large knife? That looked weirdly bright under the street lights?”</p><p>That got everyone’s attention. “You— what did the maybe-person look like?!” Lucifer demanded. “In fact, don’t tell me what it looked like. Tell me what you <em>saw! </em>No matter how absurd.”</p><p>              “I…” The man swallowed. He looked unnerved to suddenly be the center of attention, and glanced at Aziraphale for… reassurance? “I don’t know! Tall. Gangly. White hair, or, or a really light blond, and dark eyes, and a really <em>filthy</em> trench coat. And then Mr. Fell stabbed him, and he dissolved into—I don’t know. It looked kinda like rice? Except… moving? And then the rice, the maggots I guess, they tunneled into the ground and disappeared. And so did the sword. I mean—I mean that the sword disappeared, not that it turned into maggots and burrowed into the ground.”<br/>Aziraphale jerked their chin up. “You see?” they prompted. “I am not the murderer. Why would I be? I am an—I work for the <em>good </em>side, you know.”</p><p>That glare had more hatred in it than Aziraphale had seen in a while. “The good side.” Lucifer scoffed. “Speak for yourself, <em>Principality.” </em> </p><p>              This time, Aziraphale couldn’t stop the cold from filtering onto their face. “Speaking for myself is <em>exactly</em> what I’m doing, oh King of the Damned. Make no mistake. If you do <em>anything whatsoever </em>to harm one hair on my Enemy’s head without their consent, I <em>will </em>call in Adam to help me smite you from this world.” That may have been a little out of character, or a lot out of character, but they were <em>tired </em>of acting meek. Their chin jerked up. “Detectives. I was doing my best not to interfere in your investigation, but I suppose that it’s rather too late for that now. The de—the criminal Daniel described is named Hastur, and is at least in <em>theory</em> under your good friend Lucifer’s command. Though I doubt that he’s heard anything direct from Below in quite a while.”</p><p>Detective Decker’s face was a <em>picture. </em>“… Ezra Fell,” she whispered at last. “You said you were Ezra Fell. Crowley <em>told me </em>he was in San Francisco with his—with someone named Ezra Fell. He, or they, or whatever said you two were—”<br/>              “We are,” Aziraphale interrupted.<br/>              “But you called them your enemy!”</p><p><em>              You… really don’t know, do you?<br/></em>Aziraphale cocked theirhead to one side, and this time shaped their voice such that it would be easily forgotten. Humans weren’t supposed to know. But then, they never could bear to wipe their memories, even the ones they dearly wanted to punch. So they only made it easy for them to do it themselves, if they couldn’t stand the knowledge, easy for humans to forget. And as for the truth of things, they would not let even Lucifer’s presence deter them from speaking their love any longer.<br/>Besides, Chloe reminded them of Eve. They had to set a good example.</p><p>              “Oh, yes,” the angel assured. A hint of their true form leaked into the air around them as they spoke. “But an Enemy for six thousand years now, which makes them a sort of friend.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>The humans seemed… overwhelmed.<br/>Aziraphale looked away, and saw—Lucifer. Lucifer, dumbfounded and vulnerable and—and full of a slow and sudden fury which made Aziraphale’s chill look like a temper tantrum.</p><p>“You’re <em>lying,” </em>the King of Hell hissed.<br/>              “Am not.” Aziraphale squared their shoulders<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>. Their heart was fluttering in their chest, <em>ooh </em>this was bad. “I <em>could</em> lie to you, you know.” Their chin jerked up, a nervous tic they’d started borrowing from Crowley long ago. “If not even Michael or Gabriel ever caught me, I don’t really think you could either. But I’m not lying. I’ll tell you everything, in fact, and you may take it as you will: I <em>love</em> Crowley. With every molecule and ineffable, incorporeal strand which makes me up, I love them. I will no longer tolerate any view of the world which does not allow for that. I will not <em>cower </em>when my superiors tell me I cannot love a demon, or a human, or a book. Or that I should not love because I am only a watcher of the world and not a participant, because I am not mortal myself. I cannot speak for Crowley.” Their voice began to scrape and scratch, but they kept going.<br/>              “Perhaps Crowley does not love me. Perhaps as everyone says, they cannot love, they merely tolerate me. Hell, perhaps they have simply <em>tricked</em> me all these centuries into caring for them so that I would stop discorporating them whenever we meet! But <em>I</em> love them. Crowley did not kill these people. If you can prove they did, then I will take on the burden of containing them myself, but I know that they did not. Either way, since we’re now on the same page, I will make myself clear.” Aziraphale took a deep breath before continuing. “If you harm Crowley, I will <em>kill you. </em>Not discorporate you. Kill you. No matter whose aid I must enlist to do so.” They hesitated. “And for what it’s worth, if you smite me down in turn, Amenadiel is bound to take vengeance upon you.”</p><p>              “Amenadiel?!” Why was it that Lucifer now sounded more baffled than he did angry?<br/>And then the King of Hell sighed. “Damnit. You were one of his, weren’t you? I have <em>got </em>to talk to Linda about all this.” He rubbed his face with one hand. “Bugger. I really must get some answers out of Crowley now, too. And probably Amenadiel, for that matter.” Breath hissed out through his teeth. “And you told them! You just… <em>told two humans </em>what you were!”</p><p>              “I <em>implied </em>it, thank you very much,” Aziraphale answered primly. It was the answer he’d been using for thousands of years. “They must have figured it out for themselves.”<br/>              “Right, because that was truly a tremendous leap of logic.”</p><p>“You’re the one who’s been going around calling yourself Lucifer. Humans <em>know </em>that name, at least nobody recognizes mine.” Aziraphale refrained from rolling their eyes only with difficulty.<br/>              “It’s not like anyone <em>believes </em>me!" Lucifer squawked. "Dan said you had a <em>flaming sword!</em>”<br/>              “I wasn’t thinking clearly!” the angel protested.<br/>               “And now you are! What if it breaks their brains?!”<br/>              “Oh, please.” This time, Aziraphale didn’t bother holding back the eyeroll. “In all of my thousands of years on this Earth, I have never once seen that happen, not irretrievably. Probably they’ll forget enough of the specifics that they can keep ignoring the truth of what we are within the hour. Worst case scenario, I have to come and overwrite the last week or so of their memory with something nice and fluffy, and it’s as if I never said anything to begin with. <em>Gabriel</em> just doesn’t know how to approach the matter gently.”</p><p>Lucifer stared a little longer, his mouth gaping open like a fish’s.</p><p>              “Sometimes you need to let them process for a few weeks,” Aziraphale added. If they didn’t know better, they would have thought Lucifer actually looked… scared. But if a Principality and a demon could fall in love, maybe the Devil could worry about some humans, right? They tried a faint-but-encouraging smile. This was <em>so weird.</em> “And accepting the truth doesn’t <em>necessarily </em>mean they can stand to see your true form. But I promise. If the truth doesn’t take, that’s fixable. And if you insist on working with them, these humans deserve to at least be allowed to <em>try </em>to understand who it is they’re dealing with.”</p><p>Lucifer said nothing.</p><p>Aziraphale fidgeted. “Look, I’ve done this before! They’ll be fine! I can fix it if they’re not. And if you—well, you know. If you care about them, and they care about you, I can tell you personally that nothing about your relationship will be improved if you don’t even <em>try </em>to tell them. They deserve to know, and they’ll… care about you, I suppose, no matter what!”</p><p>Lucifer repeated himself. This silence, this silence was <em>terrifying.</em></p><p>So Aziraphale tried to fill it. “<em>Yes, </em>I realize you’re the King of Hell," they said. "Crowley was in the same boat you know, always extra nervous about letting humans figure it out. And they were right to be, I guess. Plenty of people wouldn’t go mad, they’d just reject them, but they have the right to do that, too! And the good friends, the real ones, they don’t care. It’ll be alright.” They hugged their arms together, taking comfort in the constriction. Being the sole target of Lucifer’s attention was <em>horrible. </em>Even their wings, purely metaphysical as they were right now, had curled involuntarily against their shoulders. “It was an accident anyway, not that you were much better, calling me by my proper titles the moment Daniel hauled me in here. But I promise. Even if they end up hating you for whatever reason, I can come track them down and take the knowledge back.” No matter how squeamish it always made them.<br/>Still, this was the King of Hell they were talking about. Aziraphale had serious doubts about their own life expectancy if Lucifer was left any particular reason to murder them.</p><p>And then Lucifer deflated. “I hope you’re right. And you don’t mean harm to anyone here?”<br/>              “That’s right.” Aziraphale murmured. “No harm to anybody, I just want my Crowley back.”<br/>A sigh.<br/>              “Fine.” Lucifer walked over to the bar, and poured out two shots of something liquid and amber-colored. “Amenadiel’s alright, maybe you are too. Now drink.”</p><p>The angel blinked.</p><p>              "I’m calling Linda, my therapist,” Lucifer knocked back his own shot and refilled it one-handed, “and I intend to be absolutely <em>smashed </em>by the end of our conversation. Maybe she can help the humans… process. But I’m not drinking alone when there are three other people in my penthouse.”<br/>Aziraphale took the proffered shot glass and drank.</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Was this how Crowley had felt, that day at the air base with nothing but a tire iron?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oof I'm starting to run out of buffer chapters! Time is passing! 0-o;<br/>Anyway, hope y'all enjoy. This was a fun chapter to write, even if I didn't get to edit it as much as I wanted to.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The beginning and the end-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a heads up, the next chapter or two might be late. I've got finals coming up, and my internet keeps cutting out, and I just- yeah. If it works out on time, that's great, but I'm trying not to stress over this.<br/>Hope you enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley hated Hell.</p><p>They hated the screaming. They hated the stink of smoke and brimstone, hated how easy it was to get lost or lose all sense of time, and how hard it was to leave.<br/>
But most of all, they absolutely <em>loathed </em>the company.</p><p>Still, they’d received the paperwork from Beelz and were almost out when a rain of maggots came screeching in from Above, reeking of burning flesh. <em>Hastur. </em></p><p>              “What the—” Crowley started.</p><p>And then the rest of Hastur reassembled itself, landing sprawled along their shoulders to tumble both of them to the ground.<br/>
              “<em>Crowley,” </em>the other demon growled. He looked… rather the worse for wear, actually, with a great nasty burn singed into the middle of him, though it had not cut all the way through. “Why are you here?”</p><p>Crowley hauled themself to their feet with as much cool dignity as they could muster<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>. “That’s hardly your business now, is it?” they said stiffly.<br/>
              “My business,” Hastur repeated, almost dumbly. “My business, my business, my business—Crowley, I don’t care whose pardon is etched into your temple, what <em>you’re </em>doing is always my business. Traitorous snake.” Those black pits the Duke called eyes glowered into them. “You killed Ligur.”<br/>
Crowley flinched. “It’d be a funny old world, if demons went around trusting each other.” They repeated, for no real reason at all. It sounded wrong. “He was trying to bring me back to Hell.”</p><p>The words lingered in an awkward silence.</p><p>Hastur looked almost… pitying, beneath that tight rage and grief, or maybe he was just resigned. That was also <em>wrong</em>, and Crowley was pretty sure that Hastur felt just as uncomfortable with the feeling as they did. It was a relief when the old bastard overrode it with a sneer.</p><p>              “So much for all that. Here you are, back of your own accord.”<br/>
              “I don’t know about that,” Crowley muttered. “Didn’t really <em>feel </em>like the King was giving me much of a choice.”<br/>
              “Good.” Hastur was back to seeming disgusted, which was much more their usual stride these days. “He shouldn’t. You’re a scheming bastard, all <em>infected </em>with delusions of humanity. Maybe burning with the rest of us for a few eons’ll fix whatever’s gone wrong in your useless head.” There was the old hate, settling back in. “I hope you hurt so bad you start to <em>wish </em>for the fate you put Ligur to without even a fucking warning,” he hissed, standing up at last to tower over them. “I hope He never lets you leave Hell again. Murdering scum like you don’t deserve it, especially not when they’re as fucked in the head as you’ve gotten. Demons aren’t meant to stay on Earth.” <em> <br/>
              Demons aren’t meant to stay in Hell, either.</em></p><p>Crowley blinked.<br/>
Where had that thought come from? Whatever it was, it felt older than the bricks of Dis, and that didn’t make any sense at all. “Where <em>are</em> demons meant to be?” they asked. It was probably a terrible decision, speaking it aloud, but that had never stopped Crowley before. “We sure weren’t made to be in this bloody pit, unless Mother is a lot crueller than She ever let on. Aziraphale doesn’t think She meant specific people to Fall, anyway; and I trust his judgement.”</p><p>Hastur stopped all of a sudden and blinked down at him, looking as though he’d tried to fight a wall and the wall had won. “You trust your <em>Adversary’s judgement</em>?” he asked in true surprise.<br/>
              “Well it’s bound to be better than mine!” Crowley exclaimed. “I can’t remember shit about Heaven, for the most part. Neither can you! Literally nobody can, you know that! Except for maybe like. The Nine Lords, and Lucifer, and I’m not about to ask them, so y’know what? Yeah. I trust Aziraphale on this. And he’s not as much of an idealist as you think he is.”</p><p>This time the loathing was obvious in every fiber of Hastur’s voice.<br/>
              <em>“Aziraphale,” </em>he growled. “That feathery bastard is responsible for all of this, he’s responsible for changing you into this, this—ach!” The demon was agitated enough his hands had turned to claws, long black nails sticking sharply from his fingertips. “<em>Bastard</em>. I’d tear out his heart and eat it if only I knew how.” There was that strange protectiveness again, resting jarring and unacknowledged between them. Why would Hastur feel the urge to protect a creature as useless and annoying as <em>Crowley</em> from an angel, anyway? Especially an angel so plagued with ancient injuries that Heaven swept them off to Earth so no-one would have to look at them? Since when did Hastur even <em>care?<br/>
</em>Well. Hastur had hated Crowley for as long as either of them could remember. Maybe hate was a kind of caring, in some twisted, Hellish sort of a way. Like Lilith’s weird love-hate thing with her Lilum children. Crowley shivered.</p><p>An idea struck Hastur, then. It was a wretched one, too, they could tell by the way those terrible eyes gleamed in the red light of Hell. It made them nervous. “Well.” The Duke of Hell smiled a rotting smile. “Maybe I’ll figure something out on that front after all. Run along on your errand, <em>Crawly, </em>in the meantime<em>. </em>Be the bad little soldier.”</p><p>Crowley ignored the awful feeling growing in their gut.<br/>
              “Yeah, yeah,” they muttered, clutching at their paperwork. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”</p><p>They fled.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>~~~</p><p>Lucifer was no longer at the precinct when Crowley made it back topside. That was alright, the King of Hell’s aura saturated the whole city, when they looked for it, so he would not be hard to locate. Crowley shook the ash from their wings with a sigh. The lights and the cool breeze of Earth had never been so perfect, the moon never seemed so beautiful in contrast as when Crowley still shook with the horror of Hell. They hadn’t been there for too long, at least, not this time. The cold night was still more welcoming than remote, more cleansing and relief than anything else. Taking to the sky was a relief, even if their wings stank of sulfur and itched from the ash drifting in the air of Dis, and before long, Crowley landed in an alley not far from where Lord Lucifer waited.</p><p>              “A night club?” they murmured. “Suppose it’s fitting.”<br/>
It was a fancy one too, with the name <em>Lux </em>spelled out in lights above the street. Crowley snapped their fingers. They miracled fresh sunglasses to replace the one Hastur had broken in the earlier kerfuffle, cleaned and repaired their leather jacket, replaced their shirt and trousers with a lovely goth party dress copied off one of the women in line for entry. It had a very high neckline, a plunging back, delicate details plucked out in tasteful goldish thread—yes, Crowley decided. That would do nicely. They paired it with a heavy set of black combat boots and scale-pattern tights—or at least, they looked like tights to the casual observer. And perhaps the distinctly non-stocking texture of them would help ward off any more unwelcome touches. A pair of gold snake earrings teleported from their flat finished off the look. Crowley loved those earrings. They’d been a gift from their dear friend Bitaia, a jeweler who lived thousands of years ago, back in Phaistos, in Crete—they and Aziraphale were still deadly enemies, then, and true affection for a creature as wretched as they had been a rare and treasured thing. Perhaps they would provide a bit of comfort in the face of their damned boss, where Aziraphale must not go.</p><p>They took a deep breath and joined the line.<br/>
Crowley could probably skip the line, if they tried. Go up to the gentleman in the suit by the door, say Lucifer was expecting them. It wouldn’t even be a lie! But that would mean they’d be face-to-face with their Lord so much sooner, and the very thought filled them with dread.</p><p>Still, they were in the club soon enough.</p><p>It wasn’t really Crowley’s scene, though they didn’t <em>hate </em>parties. It was just a little overwhelming. Lights and noise and dancing, and that was alright, but the <em>sticky </em>of sweat and people, Crowley wasn’t as much a fan of. Still, the lust and greed and miscellaneous vices were sweet on the senses, and the energy of the place was <em>beautiful. </em>Or at least, it would be if Lucifer’s presence weren’t so ominous above it. They smiled at the bouncer with teeth they allowed to grow sharp and shoved past them into the club.<br/>
Where next?</p><p>Crowley couldn’t see the boss anywhere.<br/>
Surely someone would know, though. Lucifer had been going by one of his real names this whole time, after all, and <em>Lucifer Morningstar</em> had to be a memorable one. They went up to the bartender. The bartender pointed them up to the penthouse, and then there was an interminable elevator ride, and then—the doors opened. Crowley froze.</p><p>              “Well, well, well,” slurred a familiar voice. “Look who’s back.” Was Lucifer <em>drunk? </em>Since when did the King of the Damned have enough imagination or familiarity with human things to get <em>drunk? </em></p><p>              “Lucifer, get a hold of yourself!” a woman’s voice interrupted. She was blond, and human, and pregnant with a swirling paradox that made Crowley a little queasy to even look at, and she was <em>human. </em>“Why does that even—oh!” She finally noticed the snake in the doorway. Blue eyes looked them up and down appreciatively, but Crowley was too shocked to acknowledge her. Was that…</p><p>Aziraphale, wringing their hands and looking rather sheepish at the bar.<br/>
              “Aziraphale!” they croaked. “What- what are you <em>doing </em>here?! I thought we agreed—are you alright, are you—”<br/>
              “Your angel is <em>fine, </em>you little snake.” Lord Lucifer rolled his eyes. “They might have broken my humans, though. The not-Linda ones. They’re in the other room now, and it’s not going well. If my humans don’t fix themselves up soon, I’ll have to—”<br/>
The woman jumped in again, her voice stern. “You’ll have to do <em>nothing, </em>Lucifer. They will be alright. Probably. Aziraphale says they will, anyway, and I trust him to know what he’s talking about.” She turned to the demon who still stood petrified in the doorway. “Hello! You must be Crowley.” The human smiled. “My name is Dr. Linda Martin, it’s nice to meet you.”</p><p>Crowley didn’t know what to say.</p><p>They just stood there, eyes locked on Aziraphale’s, until Lucifer stepped forward with sharpened teeth and red-glinting glare. “<em>Well?” </em>he prodded. It was a threatening sort of prod, the kind with a tendency to start in one person’s musculature and end up buried in someone else’s on the end of something <em>sharp. </em>“I sent you on an errand for me, Crowley, I expect you to complete it.”<br/>
              “R-right.” Crowley stuttered. “Right. I have- Beelz and Lord Dagon were pretty prompt. I mean of course they were. They’re competent, more so than me, definitely.” They rummaged in their pockets, brought out the report. Their hands shook when they strode forward, and when they handed it over into those perfectly-manicured fingers. Crowley gave a humorless little laugh. “Only got slightly injured on the way back, so, y’know. Should still be readable and all that.”<br/>
              “Injured?!” That was Linda.</p><p>Lucifer practically <em>purred </em>when he took the paperwork. “Thank you, Crowley,” he said. “But really? Injured? You were only down there for—” he glanced at his watch. “Oh yes, four hours all told! You’re really that much of a wimp?”<br/>
 Crowley shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t like fighting,” he mumbled. That earned him another look from the boss, but at least it seemed more confused than angry this time.</p><p>              “Wait wait so you were… you were in <em>Hell?!” </em>Linda demanded. “And you were injured? Lucifer, you didn’t tell me <em>that’s </em>where you sent her!”<br/>
              “Look, I assume you’re talking about me but it’s, uh, <em>they </em>actually,” Crowley’s voice, at least, was steady enough. “Not she. Not he. They.” A tight smile. “S’pose if you’re tryin’ not to be an arse, I should at least let you know my preference.” They slicked back their hair in a nervous gesture. “Wait a minute, you mean you know—” they stopped.</p><p>              “Yes, Linda knows.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “She knows what I am, knows all that. Don’t be an idiot, Crowley. And thanks to your angel friend, here, I suppose Dan and the Detective do too. Assuming they don’t just lose their minds.”<br/>
              “Which is what I’m here for,” Linda added. “Partly, anyway. Didn’t know people could <em>actually </em>go nuts because of all this, which is, uh, concerning. To say the least.” Her laugh had more than a tinge of hysteria to it, but the smile underneath it was real. “Y’know, no-one told me you’d look quite this… cool.” Linda’s gesture encompassed their whole corporation, leather jacket and sunglasses, dress and boots and slicked-up hair included. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I mean Maze and Lucifer are both pretty cool. I just hadn’t pictured it, somehow.” She paused. “Wasn’t expecting you to look quite so scared, either.”<br/>
Crowley gave a snort. “Oh trust me, most demons don’t look nearly so good. They’ve got no sense of style.” They didn’t really know what else to say, and the conversation lulled.</p><p>Finally Linda drew in a breath. “Right. I’m not actually that kind of doctor, but… well, where are you hurt? Can I see it? Do you need help?”</p><p>Crowley froze for just a moment. “Uh… Look, I don’t actually know you at all and I’m a little paranoid about that sorta thing, and…”<br/>
              “Oh! Oh, right, of course, it’s fine if you don’t want to. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”<br/>
This Dr. Linda was quick on the uptake, Crowley was pleased to find. Clever, even if she was apparently buddies with the Devil. They offered a quick smile. “I’ll be just fine, doctor, trust me. I’ve had far worse than some minor singes in my time. Besides, healing is a whole lot easier on Earth than it is Below, I just haven’t had a lot of time since getting back topside.”</p><p>Someone stirred in the room next door.</p><p>              “Chloe?!” The Lord of Hell leapt to his feet like nothing so much as an overexcited puppy. “Chloe, Detective, are you—are you alright, are you—”<br/>
There came a distinctly masculine groan, and then a man staggered out, gripping his head in his hands.</p><p>The Devil deflated.<br/>
              Lucifer began to speak, but the human held up a hand sharply and he stopped.<br/>
              “Wait. So you’re… This is bullshit. I can’t believe how much sense all this makes, but if <em>he’s </em>an angel and <em>he </em>calls you Lucifer, then you must actually, seriously be…” The human stared at Lord Lucifer, irritation written clearly on his face. “God, this is all so stupid!” He turned. “And you!” the man pointed at Aziraphale, of all people, though he sounded more shocked than accusatory. “You’re—you had a <em>flaming sword</em>! I didn’t imagine it, did I?”<br/>
              “I’m afraid not, Daniel.” Aziraphale said.<br/>
              “And—and that guy, that <em>thing, </em>that tried to strangle me and then turned into maggots, was that—” he froze, clearly searching for the words. “That was a demon, wasn’t it?” He whirled back to the King of Hell who stood straight as a rod by the bar. “Aren’t you supposed to be their boss?!”</p><p>The room full of eldritch celestial beings stared at him in solemn silence.</p><p>              “… I can’t believe this is happening.” Daniel said at last. He blinked. And then—“What about Maze? She used to be with you all the time, is she… An angel or something?”</p><p>Mazikeen, an angel?! Crowley smothered the hysterical laughter before it left their throat, difficult though such a task was in the circumstances.<br/>
              “No way.” Daniel answered his own question. “That’s… no, no, no way is <em>she</em> an angel. A demon?”</p><p>              “A Lilum,” Lucifer corrected. His voice was more gentle than Crowley had ever heard it. “Technically human, but born and raised in the fires of Hell. Demon enough to be immune to age, and unharmed by most mortal weapons, but she has a body, not a corporation. If it dies, she dies, and cannot leave Hell again in corporeal form.”<br/>
              “And your brother…”<br/>
              “Is an angel.” Lord Lucifer finished. “Amenadiel is the Eldest of us, as it happens, and a mortal pain in the arse.”</p><p>Daniel let out a slow breath. “Linda. What about you? What are you doing here?”</p><p>              “Me?” Dr. Linda squeaked. “Um. No, I’m not, I’m not either of those things, I’m human. I just, uh, learned about this stuff a couple years ago, so Lucifer wanted me to come make sure you and Chloe were okay.”<br/>
His eyes landed on Crowley. “And you’re the murder suspect that Lucifer insisted on.” There was something about that expression that practically <em>compelled </em>Crowley to answer the questions he did not ask.</p><p>              “True demon,” they shrugged. “I swear it’s just a big misunderstanding, but my lord is automatically suspicious of me anyway, especially since I’m supposed to be stationed in the Europe and Mediterranean area, not North America. S’pose I’d be suspicious, too, if our positions were reversed. I really didn’t do the murder, though.” Some of this Daniel’s earlier remarks finally started to sink in, though, and Crowley started. “Wait—maggots? Do you mean, was that <em>Hastur?!”<br/>
</em>              “How should I know?!” Daniel spluttered, but Aziraphale interrupted him.</p><p>“It was, dearest. Hastur, that is. I recognized him, he was trying to kill Daniel.” The angel pursed their lips. “Or perhaps… perhaps they weren’t, actually. If he wanted Daniel dead, I’m quite sure Hastur could have snapped his neck before I stopped him. He must have had something else in mind.”<br/>
              “Hastur has a maggot aspect, though. Maybe they could eat a corpse clean. I thought they were just after me.” The demon scratched at their neck while they thought. “I certainly wouldn’t put it past that slimy piece of shit to try something.”</p><p>The King of Hell drew in a breath.<br/>
He glanced down at the papers, then back at Crowley, his face suddenly cold as it had not been since Crowley’s return and staring right at them. “Unfortunately, Hastur’s involvement complicates your case.” That elegant head tilted slightly to one side. “Crowley—if Hastur is indeed involved, I cannot in good conscience allow you anywhere near my humans.”</p><p>
  <em>What.</em>
</p><p>              “Look, Hastur’s got beef with me, I know, but I swear I wasn’t even around here when the murders started! This isn’t collateral damage in trying to kill me, it’s some harebrained scheme of his own!” Crowley protested, though the dread was rising in his stomach again. It was that <em>look </em>of Lucifer’s that did it. That look felt horribly familiar, and promised pain and terror unimaginable, Crowley could feel it in their gut even though the memories it referenced had long since gone blurry with time and grasping flames. Their stomach lurched.</p><p>              “I’m not worried that Hastur’s trying to kill you.” Lucifer said softly, though his eyes were hard as marble in his face<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>.<br/>
“I’m worried he’s trying to <em>save</em> you.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Which was not very much.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> That voice was scary, too. The King of Hell had no business sounding <em>soft </em>or <em>gentle, </em>not as far as Crowley was concerned.</p>
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